The Future of Domestic Drudgery: Why I'm Both Excited and Terrified by Cleaning Robots
The internet has been buzzing about this cleaning robot called Loki, and honestly, watching the demo video left me with mixed feelings that I’m still trying to untangle. Here’s this sleek little machine methodically working its way through an apartment - toilet, sink, kitchen surfaces, floors - like some kind of domestic deity finally answering our prayers for freedom from household chores.
My first thought was pure joy. Finally! Someone’s cracked the code on making robots that can actually handle the mundane stuff that eats up our weekends. But then the programmer in me kicked in, and I started noticing the details that had the comments section absolutely losing their minds. The toilet-first approach had people genuinely concerned about cross-contamination, even though the robot clearly swaps out cleaning materials between tasks. It’s fascinating how our brains work - we can accept that this machine navigates complex spatial relationships and makes autonomous decisions about cleaning priorities, but we panic at the thought of it using the same cloth twice.
What really got me thinking was how this represents a shift in how we approach automation. We’ve had Roombas for years, but they’re essentially fancy vacuum cleaners that bump around until they’ve covered the floor. This thing is different - it’s making decisions, adapting to the environment, and handling multiple tools and tasks in sequence. It’s like having a very patient, methodical flatmate who never complains about whose turn it is to clean the bathroom.
The pricing discussion in those comments was eye-opening too. Twenty-two and a half thousand dollars sounds steep until you start doing the maths. Someone worked out that’s about eleven dollars an hour if you get 2000 hours of use out of it. Compare that to hiring a cleaner in Melbourne - you’re looking at forty to sixty dollars an hour minimum, and they’re only there for a few hours a week. This robot could theoretically work every day, keeping things constantly tidy rather than letting mess accumulate between cleaning sessions.
But here’s where my enthusiasm starts wrestling with my concerns. The environmental impact of manufacturing these sophisticated machines is enormous. All those sensors, processors, and mechanical components don’t materialise out of thin air. Then there’s the question of repairability - when something breaks, are we looking at a simple fix or a complete replacement? The tech industry’s track record on planned obsolescence doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.
There’s also the broader social question that keeps nagging at me. What happens to the people who currently make their living cleaning houses and offices? Sure, there’s always the argument that technology creates new jobs while eliminating others, but the transition period is rarely smooth for the workers caught in the middle. The comments about this being “Another Indian” handling the work remotely were particularly galling - they reveal an uncomfortable truth about how we think about both automation and labour.
The thing that strikes me most about this technology is how it highlights our complicated relationship with domestic work. We simultaneously want to be freed from it and remain suspicious of anything that might actually achieve that freedom. The nitpicking about cleaning order and contamination protocols shows how deeply we’ve internalised very specific ideas about “proper” cleaning methods - ideas that might not actually be necessary for maintaining a hygienic living space.
Living in Melbourne, where the cost of living keeps climbing and both partners in most relationships need to work full-time just to keep up with rent or mortgage payments, I can see the appeal of having a tireless domestic assistant. But I also worry about what we lose when we outsource more of our basic life maintenance to machines. There’s something meditative about the rhythm of cleaning, something grounding about the physical work of maintaining your living space.
Perhaps the real question isn’t whether these robots will work as advertised, but whether we’re ready for the world they’re promising to create. A world where domestic labour becomes invisible, handled by silent machines while we focus on what we consider more important pursuits. It sounds utopian, but it also feels like we might be automating away one of the last connections we have to the physical reality of keeping ourselves alive and comfortable.
The technology is undeniably impressive, and I suspect we’ll see rapid improvements in both capability and affordability over the next few years. But I hope we’re also having conversations about how to implement these tools in ways that enhance human flourishing rather than simply maximising convenience and profit. Because ultimately, the future we’re building isn’t just about the robots we create - it’s about the kind of society we choose to be once we have them.