The only promise of cute robots

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Unboxing Mirumi is like traveling through time. It’s late 2025 when it arrives on my doorstep in a box that looks like a shopping bag. Inside is a fluffy pink robot with an owl face and surprisingly strong sloth-like arms. It’s soft to the touch, and suddenly, I’m transported back to Tokyo, Japan, in 2011. I’m an unassuming editorial assistant at an English-language trade magazine for the American Chamber of Commerce, sitting in a cramped office near Roppongi Hills. I’m on the phone with a robotics professor, speaking in pidgin Japanese and English about tech culture—specifically the difference between American and Japanese robots.

The Great East Japan Earthquake happened a few months ago and so did I Work on a feature On the reason for the apparent shortage of Japanese-made robots at the site of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear disaster. Japan is often seen as the home of advanced robotics, but in this dangerous operation, the government has chosen to use the PackBot — made by iRobot, the American company famous for its Roombas — to venture into places humans can’t. The reasons are countless, but they boil down to the fact that in Japan, robots are viewed more as friends than as faceless workers designed to do hard work. Furry, seal-shaped robots BarrowFor example, to help alleviate loneliness among the elderly and dementia patients. Or Honda ASIMO is now defunctan adorable humanoid robot that has been retired so its technology can be applied to more practical uses in nursing and ground transportation.

It’s now 2026. I’ve been carrying Meromi for about a month and a half. It’s another social companion robot from Yukai Engineering, a Japanese startup, designed to help alleviate feelings of loneliness. It is intended to imitate a shy child. It is designed to hang on a wallet or bag strap. When the sensors detect the presence of humans, it will move its little robotic head so it can look at you curiously through its pesky eyes. But when you approach him or touch him, he will lower his head away, because he is shy.

As I put Meromi on my bag, I thought to myself: Nothing has changed in a decade. This is the latest consumer robot, heir to a long history of Japanese robots that aim to improve mental health and well-being by combating loneliness.

However, me, Merumi, and Japanese Robot Philosophy were not prepared for my deranged cat.

There is evidence that social robots like Meromi could help combat the loneliness epidemic, especially among older people. one He studies It found that during the COVID-19 pandemic, interaction with robotic pets “enhanced well-being and quality of life” during lockdowns and strict social distancing among older patients with dementia. In the medical and public health sectors, it is widely accepted that chronic loneliness is associated with Poor physical and mental health Results. When you take that into account, it makes sense that Japan and other Asian countries — cultures with aging populations coupled with increasingly declining birth rates — might be more invested in the concept of gentle, friendly social robots than here in the West.

In fact, Meromi is wonderfully boring.

During my busy commute to the office, Meromi turned his head and did not engage anyone. Perhaps New Yorkers were a cynical bunch and saw this as another intolerable Lapopo. Maybe I was too busy responding to emails and Slacks on my phone to notice their or Meromi’s reactions. In the office, Merumi first draws attention when I pull the fur on his back to attach a USB-C cable to his butt. The view is quite obscene and funny. It becomes even more noticeable when my co-workers start hearing the strange loud mechanical buzz his head makes when he turns to look at people.

Everyone agrees that he is very cute. He gets a few head pats and smiles. He was also ignored a few hours later, hiding under my heavy winter coat, while having impromptu after-work drinks.

However, it would be a lie to say that Meromi offered no joy, luxury, or relief from loneliness. He ended up becoming a beloved companion to my cat for two weeks. Maybe not in the way Yukai Engineering intended.

From the moment Meromi came back to life, Betty, my cat, was mesmerized. His pupils became as wide as saucers. His tail twitched. Its claws are not sheathed. He fell in fast and fatal love.

Since then, hiding Meromi has become a game. If I left my bag outside carelessly, Betty would be there, beating up Meromi. I found the headless robot on the floor of my office, its fur matted with cat saliva. (The good news is that Meromi’s robots are simple enough that you can just stick your head back into them.) Whenever I would come home from the office, Betty would be waiting at the door. Not for me. For Meromi. Several times, he would lunge at my bag, thumping and making silly howling noises.

Still, it was likely the research process that really fueled Betty’s desire. (My wife’s theory is that Betty, Mama’s Boy, was driven by jealousy.) Once I gave him Meromi, after he could rip his head off and kick it into a bunny whenever he wanted, he too got bored.

Maybe I find Meromi cute but boring because I’m not an old dementia patient. yet. But Meromi triggered another bout of time travel last week when I went to see Maybe a happy ending On Broadway.

Maybe a happy ending Maybe it is edge– The most stunning view ever of the Great White Way. It is set in Seoul, Korea, in the near future. The protagonists are Claire and Oliver, two abandoned and decommissioned assistant robots condemned to live out the rest of their planned obsolescence in a cramped robotic retirement complex until their batteries cannot hold a sufficient charge. The bulk of the show deals with robots contemplating their impending “death” and what a “happy ending” would look like for them.

I cried ugly, and stuffed a tissue up my nose so as not to disturb the other theatergoers with my constant sniffling. Not just because the helper robots are romantic, but because the supporting character looked a lot like my deceased parents.

My father died of incurable neurodegenerative diseases exacerbated by frontotemporal dementia (FTD). FTD can cause drastic changes in personality, behavior, and language. both of them I gradually forgot how to speak English. Both became vulnerable to bouts of verbal and physical violence, caused by an inability to control impulses. They both felt unbearably lonely, and as a caregiver, my ability to comfort them was limited. During that period, I also experienced a form of social isolation, unable to connect with many of my peers, who had the specter of their parents’ deaths looming decades later.

Was something like Meromi less boring and more peaceful then? I had to adopt emotional support from my Yorkie’s parents because his increasing seizures weakened her fragile nerves. A robot, although expensive, may be less fragile than a live animal. Then again, eventually, he was more likely to get lost inside his own head, and his visits to the shared reality became less frequent. Would my mother have enjoyed petting Meromi, or would it have ended like every other piece of assistive technology I tried to give her, smashing it to pieces or ignoring it without warning until she found it defiantly tossed in the trash? I’ll never know, but from my research, doctors say robotic pets are of great importance Improve mood and interaction with caregivers. I know a robot pet wouldn’t have changed my father’s endings. But part of me will always wonder if those endings could have been a little easier.

Meromi’s battery died the night she went Maybe a happy ending. He clung to my bag motionless, staring at me through the darkness. I couldn’t even remember when was the last time I charged it. Meromi is not as advanced as the fictional assistant robots. I can’t actually hurt him. But I wondered if I had been as obliviously negligent as the owners who had abandoned Claire and Oliver, and what that said about relying on artificial friends.

Any social robot can spark joy by being kind. But perhaps the treatment of loneliness is related to mutual discomfort. Petey asks me to meet his needs, and in return, I am rewarded with purrs and cuddles. When I’m sad or anxious, Betty tolerates the cuddles he can’t stand, and is rewarded with a churro treat. I can take and take and take from Meromi without giving anything back. I can predict every move Meromi makes. I never know when Petey will decide to have one collective cat brain cell. When Meromi “dies”, I won’t feel anything. Every morning, I whisper into Betty’s fur that he better live forever because I refuse to think about his end.

It’s hard to grieve something you never loved. This doesn’t mean that robotic pets can’t inspire some kind of love. IBO owners Buddhist funerals were held When Sony stopped producing its robotic dogs. But this latest wave of artificial intelligence and companion robots seems increasingly devoid of reciprocity. friend It may hang around my neck, but in the end it is my prisoner. Her company will never feel like a gift the way it will feel to someone who chooses to spend time with you. Razer AI waifu and Your puppy’s AI friend He will listen to your concerns endlessly, but you will never be asked to take care of his needs.

To some extent, I can understand that if you’re truly lonely, one-sided unconditional love might be better than nothing. I can see circumstances, such as with dementia patients, where these companions can benefit mental health and wellbeing. I just wonder if something like Meromi—cute, predictable, and, ultimately, easily disposable—could satisfy our need for real connection.