Wellness has become a spectacle of screens and sensors. In the rush towards digital immersion, is the human touch being lost?
There was a time — a simpler, vaguely sandalwood-infused time — when mindfulness merely meant joining your palms together after yoga and mumbling a half-hearted approximation of “Namaste”. But in this age of burnout-as-badge-of-honour and cortisol-fuelled capitalism, it is perhaps inevitable that wellness centres — once sanctuaries of scented candles and soft hands — would be annexed by algorithms.
Picture the scene: “Good morning, UserIAmSoStressed. You’ve been allotted exactly 23.8 minutes to achieve tranquility. Initiating high-resolution body scan in 4K: Pay attention to points of tension, and note that any discomfort not covered by your insurance plan, such as your back, will be ignored. Now, select an algorithmically optimised mantra most likely to stabilise your emotional volatility. But before we proceed, take a moment to absorb an ad from our sponsors and investors.
Still feeling overwhelmed? A pair of Meta-powered noise-cancelling headset to block out co-workers and existential dread has been added to your cart. Blink twice to purchase. Finally, remember to claim your complimentary virtual hug from our friendly bot ChakraKhan on your way out.”
Absurd as it sounds, this scenario is only a half-step from reality.
Across high-end resorts and urban enclaves in Asia and beyond, such simulated theatre is no longer parody but practice. Today’s treatments involve biometric scans, AI-generated affirmations, virtual reality-guided forest bathing and sound frequencies tuned to recalibrate your “vibrational core”. Digital calm — not detox — seems to be the new aspirational ideal, and it is being sold with the same glossy fervour as anti-ageing serums and artisanal matcha.
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The Japanese-inspired Golden Door in California
To be fair, not all digital havens resemble overfunded tech demos. Founded in 1958 by “the godmother of wellness” Deborah Szekely, the 600-acre Golden Door spa in California features Japanese ryokan traditions, Zen-inspired design and a holistic philosophy well ahead of its time. With bamboo groves, koi ponds and meditative gravel paths, the property feels worlds away from the freneticism it seeks to alleviate. Despite its price tag of US$10,000 ($12,862) for a week’s stay, it has cultivated a devoted — and often high-profile — clientele, including Hollywood stars, Silicon Valley trailblazers, fashion editors and political figures. All are lured by the possibilities of transformation, wrapped in terry cloth robes and nestled between guided hikes and farm-to-table meals. No wonder Oprah is a fan.
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But what has truly set the retreat abuzz in recent months is its newfangled offering: The Circle. This multisensory outdoor experience surrounds guests with a 12 foot-high, 360° video screen projecting serene imagery such as minnows swimming or cherry blossoms drifting in the breeze, accompanied by synchronised lighting and live music often performed by a cellist, taiko drummer or ensemble discreetly positioned within the surrounding forest. Depending on one’s sensibilities, the session can feel either transcendent or theatrical, especially to those who have grown weary of gong baths, messy scrubs or yet another round of breathwork. At this point, it is less “Om” and more “Ah”.
Where Golden Door leans into refinement enveloped in natural stillness, Submersive — an ambitious new venture by Corvas Brinkerhoff, who co-founded the interactive art installation company Meow Wolf — dives headfirst into the sensory deep end. Part dreamscape, part Turkish bath, this psychedelic warehouse-sized spa melds trippy videos, reactive lighting and audio that shift in real time with users’ biometric data.
Submersive promotes tech-mediated calm
The idea came, fittingly, while Brinkerhoff was soaking in an onsen in Santa Fe — because where better to dream up a Minority Report-esque concept than marinating in hot water, surrounded by steam and silence? Scheduled to open in Austin, Texas, in two phases — 2026 and 2028 — Submersive echoes centuries-old bathing rituals across Europe, Japan and the Middle East, reimagined through a hypermodern, techno-utopian lens. Here, contrast therapy and cold dips unfold alongside curated projections and ambient soundscapes. Guests move between a dozen custom-designed rooms, guided by an AI-powered quiz that assesses their mental state and prescribes a personalised path to enlightenment.
Brinkerhoff insists the goal is not gimmickry but genuine impact. Leveraging his portfolio with Meow Wolf, he argues that the more layered and multidimensional a setting becomes — through sound, light, narrative and spatial design — the greater its potential to shift a person’s mental and emotional state. Using wearable EEG monitors and mobile EKGs, his team hopes to gather data that will not only shape the curative journey but also contribute to the emerging field of neuroaesthetics: the study of how art and environment influence the brain.
The question, of course, is whether wrapping wellness in LEDs and neuroscience enhances the intended benefits of immersive therapy or simply delivers a more sophisticated form of escapism for the overstimulated elite.
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If The Circle and Submersive sound a little Black Mirror: Spa Edition, you are not far off. While both claim to ease the mind and elevate the spirit, they also expose a paradox at the core of modern wellness: our urge to escape digital deluge through increasingly elaborate tech-mediated calm. The rise of gadget-laced refuge feels counterintuitive,
if not outright ironic, as they reinforce the very dependencies they aim to disrupt. Rather than confront discomfort, we prefer to delegate it to devices. What was once a personal reckoning has become a calculated escape, complete with bio-tracking and AI-approved solutions.
A live cello performance accompanies your session at The Circle
The burgeoning realm of neuroaesthetics holds real promise, and when thoughtfully applied, it can broaden the vocabulary of health and healing. But for all the talk of transformation through projection mapping, there is a limit to how much serenity can be stimulated and how further peace can be programmed. Despite its associations with luxury and indulgence, the spa — at its best — remains one of the few spaces where human touch, analogue rituals and unhurried time still take precedence.
Now that even bathing can be automated (have you seen the Human Washing Machine at Expo 2025 Osaka, which rinses you clean in 15 minutes while displaying mood-boosting visuals?), it is worth asking how much of our bodies are at risk of becoming just another interface: scanned, sorted and soothed according to data. The real danger is not the technology itself but how easily it reduces the complexities of human experience to a predictable loop.
The biggest perk of letting robots take over? They might finally spare us the awkward small talk with our zealous therapist who insists — mid-back rub — that now’s the perfect time to sign up for another 10-session massage package.
