It’s easy to assume that Robert Woo was defined by the accident that took away his ability to walk.

Certainly, the day of his accident—14 December 2007—was a turning point. Woo, an architect working on the new Goldman Sachs headquarters in New York City, hadn’t attended his company’s holiday party the night before, and that morning he was the only one in the trailer that served as the construction-site office. He was bent over his laptop when, 30 floors above, a crane’s nylon sling gave way, sending about 6 tonnes of steel plummeting toward the trailer. The roof collapsed, folding Woo in half and smashing his face into his laptop, which smashed through his desk.

“I was conscious throughout the whole ordeal,” Woo remembers. “It was an out-of-body experience. I could hear myself screaming in pain. I could hear the voices of the rescue workers. I heard one firefighter say, ‘Don’t worry, we’re getting to you.’” The rescue workers hauled him out of the rubble and got him to the emergency room in 18 minutes flat; with one lung crushed and the other punctured, he wouldn’t have lasted much longer. In those frantic early moments, a doctor told him that he might be paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life. He remembers asking the doctors to let him die.

Woo simply couldn’t imagine how a paralyzed version of himself could continue living his life. Then 39 years old, he worked long hours and jetted around the world to supervise the construction of skyscrapers. More important, he had two young boys, ages 6 months and 2 years. “I couldn’t see having a life while being paralyzed from the neck down, not being able to teach my boys how to play ball,” he recalls. “What kind of life would that be?”

Robert Woo walks inside the Wandercraft facility in New York City using the company’s latest self-balancing exoskeleton. Nicole Millman

But in a Manhattan showroom last May, Woo showed that he’s not defined by that accident, which left him paralyzed from the chest down, but with the use of his arms. Instead, he has defined himself by how he has responded to his injury, and the new life he built after it.

In the showroom, Woo transferred himself from his wheelchair to a 80-kilogram (176-pound) exoskeleton suit. After strapping himself in, he manipulated a joystick in his left hand to rise from a chair and then proceeded to walk across the room on robotic legs. Woo’s steps were short but smooth, and he clanked as he walked.

This exoskeleton, from the French company Wandercraft, is one of the first to let the user walk without arm braces or crutches, which most other models require to stabilize the user’s upper body. The battery-powered exoskeleton took care of both propulsion and balance; Woo just had to steer. The bulky apparatus had a backplate that extended above Woo’s head, a large padded collar, armrests, motorized legs, and footplates. Walking across the room, he appeared to be half man, half machine. On the other side of the showroom’s plate-glass window, on Park Avenue, a kid walking by with his family came to a dead halt on the sidewalk, staring with awe at the cyborg inside.

Robert Woo prepares to walk in a Wandercraft exoskeleton; the device’s controller enables him to stand up, initiate walk mode, and choose a direction. Bryan Anselm/Redux

The amazement on the boy’s face was reminiscent of Woo’s young sons’ reaction when they saw a photo of Woo trying out an early exoskeleton, back in 2011. “Their first comment was, ‘Oh, Daddy’s in an Iron Man suit,’” he remembers. Then they asked, “When are you going to start flying?” To which Woo replied, “Well, I’ve got to learn how to walk first.”

The title of exoskeleton superhero suits Woo. He’s as soft-spoken and mild-mannered as Clark Kent, with a smile that lights up his face. Yet the strength underneath is undeniable; he has built a new life out of sheer determination.

For 15 years, he’s been a test pilot, early adopter, and clinical-study subject for the most prominent exoskeletons under development around the world. He placed the first order for an exoskeleton that was approved for home use, and he learned what it was like to be Iron Man around the house. Throughout it all, he has given the companies detailed feedback drawn from both his architectural design skills and his user experience. He has shaped the technology from inside of it.

Saikat Pal, a researcher at the New Jersey Institute of Technology, in Newark, met Woo during clinical trials for Wandercraft’s first model. Like so many others in the field, Pal quickly recognized that Woo brought a lot to the table. “He’s a super-mega user of exoskeletons: very enthusiastic, very athletic,” Pal says. “He’s the perfect subject.”

By pushing the technology forward, Woo has paved the way for thousands of people with spinal cord injuries as well as other forms of paralysis, who are now benefiting from exoskeletons in rehab clinics and in their homes. “Our bionics program at Mount Sinai started with Robert Woo,” says Angela Riccobono, the director of rehabilitation neuropsychology at Mount Sinai Hospital, in New York City, where Woo became an outpatient after his accident. “We have a plaque that dedicates our bionics program to him.”

Robert Woo walks down a sidewalk in New York City in 2015 using a ReWalk exoskeleton, one of the first exoskeletons designed for use outside the rehab clinic. Eliza Strickland

It’s a fitting tribute. Woo’s post-accident life has been marked by victories, frustrations, deep love, and one devastating loss, and yet he has continued to devote himself to bionics. And while his vision for exoskeletons hasn’t changed, experience has reshaped what he expects from them in his lifetime.

Long before Woo ever stood up in a robotic suit, he had developed the habits of mind that would later make him an unusually perceptive test pilot.

Woo has always been a builder, a tinkerer, a fixer. Growing up in the suburbs of Toronto, he put together model kits of battleships and airplanes without looking at the instructions. “I just put things together the way I thought it would work out,” he says. He trained as an architect and in 2000 joined the Toronto-based firm Adamson Associates Architects, a job that soon had him traveling to Europe and Asia to work on corporate high-rises.

Adamson specializes in taking the stunning designs of visionary architects and turning them into practical buildings with elevators and bathrooms. “Most of the design architects don’t really have a clue about how to build buildings,” Woo says. He liked solving those problems; he liked reconciling beautiful designs with the stubborn reality of construction. That talent for understanding a structure from the inside and spotting the flaws would prove essential later.

After his accident, Woo had two major surgeries to stabilize his crushed spine, which required surgeons to cut through muscles and nerves that connected to his arms. For two months, he couldn’t feel or move his arms; there was a chance he never would again. Only when sensation began creeping back into his fingertips did he allow himself to imagine a different future. If he wasn’t paralyzed from the neck down, he thought, maybe more of his body could be brought back online. “My focus was to walk again,” he says.

Woo was discharged in March 2008 and went back to his New York City apartment. He was still bedridden and required around-the-clock care. He doesn’t much like to talk about this next part: By May, his then-wife had moved back to Canada and filed for divorce, asking for full custody of their two children. Woo remembers her saying, “I can’t look after three babies, and one of them for life.”

It was a dark time. Riccobono of Mount Sinai, who met Woo shortly after he became an outpatient there in 2008, recalls the despondent look on his face the first time they talked. “I wasn’t sure that he wasn’t going to take his life, to be honest,” she says. “He felt like he had nothing to live for.”

Angela Riccobono of Mount Sinai Hospital (left) credits Woo with jump-starting the hospital’s bionics program; a plaque in the department of rehabilitation medicine recognizes his role.

Yet Woo harbors no animosity toward his ex-wife. “If we hadn’t separated and gone through the custody hearing, I don’t think I would have gotten this far,” he says. To win partial custody of his children, Woo had to become independent. He had to get off narcotic pain medications, regain strength, and learn how to navigate life in a wheelchair. He had to show that he no longer needed constant nursing, and that he could take care of both himself and his boys.

There were milestones: learning how to get back into his wheelchair after a fall, learning to drive a car with hand controls, learning to manage his body as it was, not as it had been. The biggest change came when he reconnected with his high school sweetheart, a vivacious woman named Vivian Springer. She was then dividing her time between Toronto and New York City, and she had a son who was almost the same age as Woo’s two boys. Springer had worked in a nursing home and knew how to change the sheets without getting him out of bed; she was currently working in human resources and knew how to deal with insurance companies. “You wouldn’t believe how much stress it lifted off of me,” Woo says. Over time, they became a family.

Robert Woo’s wife, Vivian, was trained in how to operate the device he used at home. His sons, Tristan (left) and Adrien, grew up watching their dad test exoskeletons. Left: Lifeward; Right: Robert Woo

Once Woo had that foundation in place, Riccobono witnessed a profound change. “He went from focusing on ‘what I can’t do anymore’ to ‘What’s still possible? What can I do with what I have?’” At Mount Sinai, Woo remembers asking his doctor Kristjan Ragnarsson, who was then chairman of the department of rehabilitation medicine, if he would ever walk again. “His response was, ‘Yes, you can walk again,’” Woo remembers, “‘but not the way you used to walk.’”

First Steps in an Exoskeleton

As soon as he had regained use of his hands, Woo had started googling, looking for anything that could get him back on his feet. He tried rehab equipment like the Lokomat, which used a harness suspended above a treadmill to enable users to walk. But at the time, it required three physical therapists: one to move each leg and one to control the machine. It was a far cry from the independent strides he dreamed of.

Several years in, he learned about two companies that had built something radically different: exoskeleton suits for people with spinal cord injuries. These prototypes had motors at the knees and the hips to move the legs, with the user stabilizing their upper body with arm braces. Woo desperately wanted to try one, although the technology was still experimental and far from regulatory approval. So he took the idea to Ragnarsson, asking if Mount Sinai could bring an exoskeleton into its rehab clinic for a test drive. Ragnarsson, who’s now retired, remembers the request well. “He certainly gave us the kick in the behind to get going with the technology,” he says.

Robert Woo tries out an early exoskeleton from Ekso Bionics at Mount Sinai Hospital, where he first began testing the technology. Mario Tama/Getty Images

Ragnarsson had seen decades of failed attempts to get paraplegics upright, including “inflatable garments made of the same material the astronauts used when they went to the moon,” he says. All those devices had proved too tiring for the user; in contrast, the battery-powered exoskeletons promised to do most of the work. And he knew one of the founders of Ekso Bionics, a Berkeley, Calif.–based company that had built exoskeletons for the military. In 2011, Ekso brought its new clinical prototype to Mount Sinai.

The day came for Woo’s first walk. “I was excited, and I was also scared, because I hadn’t stood up for almost five years,” he remembers. “Standing up for the first time was like floating, because I couldn’t feel my feet.” In that first Ekso model, Woo didn’t control when he stepped forward; instead, he shifted his weight in preparation, and then a physical therapist used a remote control to trigger the step. Woo walked slowly across the room, using a walker to stabilize his upper body, his steps a symphony of clunks and creaks and whirs. He found it mentally and physically exhausting, but the effort felt like progress.

Robert Woo stands using an exoskeleton and embraces his wife, Vivian. Woo says that exoskeleton use has both physical and psychological benefits. Mt. Sinai

Riccobono was there for those first steps, with tears running down her face. “I remembered how he looked the day I first met him, so defeated,” she says. “To see him rise from the chair, to see him rise to a standing position, to see how tall he was, to see him take those first steps—it was beautiful.” Ragnarsson saw clear benefits to the technology. “Any type of walking is good physiologically,” he says. “And it’s a tremendous boost psychologically to stand up and look someone in the eye.” Woo remembers hugging his partner, Springer, and for the first time not worrying about running over her toes with his wheelchair. I first met Woo a few days later, during his third session with the Ekso at Mount Sinai.

Ann Spungen (left), a researcher at a Veterans Affairs hospital, led early clinical trials of exoskeletons. Her research focused on the medical benefits of exoskeleton use. Robert Woo

Later that same year, at a Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) hospital in the Bronx, Woo got to try a prototype of the world’s other leading exoskeleton: the ReWalk, from the Israeli company of the same name (since renamed Lifeward). VA researchers, led by Ann Spungen, were keen to determine if exoskeleton use had real medical value for veterans with spinal cord injuries. Woo was part of that clinical trial, for which he had more than 70 walking sessions, and he’s since been in many others. But he remembers the first VA trial with the most gratitude. “Dr. Spungen’s first exoskeleton clinical trial really turned things around for me,” he says.

Over the course of the trial’s nine intense months, Woo says he saw noticeable improvements to many facets of his health. “By the end of the trial, I eliminated about three-quarters of my medication intake,” he says, including narcotic pain pills and medication for muscle spasms. He grew fitter, with less body fat, more muscle mass, and lower cholesterol. His circulation improved, he says, causing scrapes and cuts to heal more quickly, and his digestion improved too. The results Woo experienced have generally been borne out in research studies at the VA and elsewhere—exoskeletons aren’t just good for the mind, they’re good for the body.

Improving Exoskeletons From the Inside

During the VA trial, Woo began to think of exoskeletons not as miraculous machines, but as works in progress.

Pierre Asselin (right), a biomedical engineer, worked with Robert Woo during clinical trials of exoskeletons. He says Woo was always pushing the limits of the technology. Robert Woo

Pierre Asselin, the biomedical engineer coordinating the VA’s study, watched participants respond very differently to the equipment. “These devices are not the equivalent of walking—you’re tired after walking a mile,” he says. He notes that later models of both the Ekso and ReWalk enabled users to initiate each step through software that recognized when they shifted their weight. Asselin adds that the cognitive load is “like learning to drive a manual transmission car, where at first you’re really struggling to coordinate the clutch and the brake.” Woo picked it up immediately, he remembers.

Robert Woo uses an exoskeleton to reach items in a kitchen cabinet during a test of the device’s utility for everyday tasks. Eliza Strickland

Woo became an invaluable partner, Asselin says. “When we first started with the devices, there was no training manual. We developed all of that through collaboration with Robert and other participants.” Woo pushed the limits of the technology, Asselin says, whether it was seeing how many steps he could take on one battery charge or simulating a failure mode. “He’d say, ‘What happens if I was to fall? What would be the approach to getting up?’”

Woo approached the ReWalk the way he had approached buildings in his previous life: He looked inside the structure and found the weak points. An early model left some users with leg abrasions where the straps rubbed—a small injury for most people, but a serious risk for someone who can’t feel a wound forming. Woo suggested better padding and stronger abdominal supports to redistribute the load. He also hated the heavy backpack that carried the battery and computer, so one afternoon he grabbed an old pack, cut off the straps, and rebuilt it into a compact hip-mounted pouch. Then he snapped photos and sent them to the company. The next model arrived with a fanny pack.

Robert Woo sent detailed design sketches as part of his feedback to exoskeleton engineers. Robert Woo

Sometimes his fixes were more ambitious. One Ekso unit that he used at Mount Sinai kept shutting down after 30 minutes. Woo felt the hip motors and found them hot to the touch. “I said, ‘Can I remove these? I’m going to make a really quick fix, okay? Give me a drill and I’ll put a couple of holes in it,” he recalls telling the therapists, proposing to create a DIY heat sink. He wasn’t allowed to modify the prototype, but a year later the company introduced improved cooling around the hip motors. “There is a Robert Woo design on this device,” one therapist told him.

Eythor Bender, who was then the CEO of Ekso, called Woo to thank him for his feedback and invite him to spend a week at Ekso’s headquarters. “There was no lack of engineering power in that building,” says Bender. “But sometimes when you work with engineers, they overlook important things.” Bender says Woo brought both design skills and lived experience to his weeklong residency. “He told the engineers, ‘Guys, this has to be something that people actually like to wear.’”

Ekso Bionics CEO Eythor Bender and Mount Sinai physician Kristjan Ragnarsson were both on hand for Woo’s early trials of the Ekso device. Ragnarsson says he saw physical and psychological benefits of exoskeleton use. Robert Woo

The longer Woo tested, the further ahead he started thinking. With motors only at the hips and knees, every exoskeleton still required crutches. Add powered ankles, he told the Ekso and ReWalk teams, and the suits could balance themselves, freeing the user’s hands. But Woo was ahead of his time. “They said they weren’t going to do that. They weren’t going to change their whole platform,” he remembers. Years later, though, hands-free exoskeletons like those from Wandercraft would emerge built around exactly that principle.

When the Exoskeleton Came Home

By the mid-2010s, Woo had pushed the technology as far as he could in clinics. What he wanted now was to use an exoskeleton at home.

That milestone came after ReWalk’s exoskeleton became the first to win FDA approval for home use in 2014. ReWalk engineers still remember Woo’s help on the final tests for that personal-use model. It was the end of May in 2015, recalls David Hexner, the company’s vice president of research and development. “He said, ‘Guys, this is great. I’m going to buy it.’”

Woo was the first customer to buy an exoskeleton to bring home, paying US $80,000 out of pocket. His insurance wouldn’t cover the cost, but he was able to make the purchase in part because of a legal settlement after his accident. The home-use model came with a requirement that the user have at least one companion who was fully trained in operating the device. In Woo’s case, that meant that Springer learned to suit him up, realign his balance, and help him if he fell.

On delivery day, two SUVs drove up to a hotel down the street from Woo’s condo in the Toronto area. The technicians hauled two huge boxes into a hotel room and assembled his personal exoskeleton. They took Woo’s measurements, made adjustments, checked the software. This latest version could be controlled by either weight shifting or tapping commands on a smartwatch, and Woo had the app ready. He tested out everything in the hotel room, signed off, and then the technicians drove his robot legs to his home.

That was the start of his golden period with the ReWalk—similar to the excitement many people experience with a new piece of exercise equipment. “I used it every day for a few hours, and then I started logging how many steps I’d done,” Woo says. “My last count was probably just slightly over a million steps,” he says, with half of those steps taken in his home unit and half in training programs and clinical trials.

The ReWalk was the first exoskeleton available for use outside the clinic. Robert Woo’s ReWalk arrived in two large boxes. ReWalk engineers assembled it in a hotel room, and Woo tried it out in the hallway before taking it home. Robert Woo

Tristan, Woo’s eldest son, remembers doing laps with his dad in the condo’s underground parking garage while his dad was training for a 5-kilometer race in New York City. Tristan admits that he had previously been embarrassed about his dad, but training for the race shifted something for him. “I was so used to not wanting to tell people that my dad was in a wheelchair, but then I shared his passion for the training,” he says. “When people would come up to us, I’d tell them about it.”

The ReWalk could turn ordinary moments into small engineering projects. On weekends, Woo would take his boys to the golf course behind their condo and bring a baseball. He had rigged two holsters to the sides of the suit so he could stash a crutch and stand on three points (two legs and one arm) while he pitched or caught. Throw, switch crutches, catch. On the day of his accident, he never thought such a scene would be possible. But with the exoskeleton, it became just another design problem to solve. “It’s a little more work. It’s not perfect,” he says. “But in the end, you still get to do what you want to do—which is play ball with your sons.”

Tristan, now a college student, says he didn’t realize at the time how hard his dad worked to make those mundane activities possible. “Reflecting on it now,” he says, “he has shaped almost every element of my life, and he definitely is my hero.”

But even during that golden stretch, the ReWalk had a way of asserting its limits. Every so often it would freeze mid-stride and require a reboot—a small technical hiccup in theory, but a serious problem when there’s a person strapped inside. Once, when he was walking on his own in the parking garage (without his mandated companion), the suit glitched and went into “graceful collapse” mode, lowering him to a seated position on the ground. Woo had to ask security to bring his wheelchair and a dolly.

He had imagined the exoskeleton would be most useful in the kitchen. Woo loves to cook, and he had pictured himself standing at the stove, looking down into pots, and moving easily between counter and sink. The reality, he found out, was more complicated. “It’s actually very time-consuming and troublesome” to cook in an exoskeleton, he says.

Preparing a meal meant first rolling through the kitchen in his wheelchair to gather every ingredient and utensil, then transferring himself into the ReWalk and moving himself into position at the counter, stopping at just the right moment. “That’s when I fell once,” Woo says. “I collided with the counter and then lost my balance and fell backward.” If all went well, he’d lean either on one crutch or the counter to keep his balance while he worked. But if he’d forgotten to grab the vinegar from the cabinet, he’d have to go into walk mode, crutch over to it, and figure out how to carry the bottle back to his workstation.

Sitting unused in Robert Woo’s home, his ReWalk exoskeleton reflects both the promise and the limits of early devices. Robert Woo

Gradually, he stopped trying. The suit, which he’d once worn every day, spent more time sitting idle in the hallway; like so many abandoned treadmills and stationary bikes, it gathered dust. Part of the reason was the exoskeleton’s practical limitations, but part of it was a shocking development: In 2024, Vivian was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. She died in November of that year, at the age of 54.

Woo was scheduled to begin a new round of clinical trials for the Wandercraft home-use exoskeleton that month. In the aftermath of Vivian’s death, he postponed his sessions and questioned whether he would ever go back. “At the time, I thought, ‘What’s the point?’” he remembers.

He did go back, though. “He just rolled up, right into my office,” says Mount Sinai’s Riccobono. “He still had Vivian’s box of ashes on his lap. That’s how fresh it was.” Woo brought the box into a meeting of spinal cord injury patients and shared the story of losing the love of his life. And he told them that he heard his wife’s voice in his head every day, telling him to get back to work. Once again, he was figuring out how to move forward with what he had.

How Close Are We to Everyday Exoskeletons?

In the Wandercraft showroom last May, Woo steered toward the door to the street, technicians flanking him like spotters. The slope down to the sidewalk was barely an inch high, but everyone tensed. He shifted his weight and took a step forward. The suit halted automatically. He tried again—step, stop; step, stop—as the suit kept detecting the slight decline and a safety feature kicked in. The Wandercraft isn’t yet rated for slopes of more than 2 percent, and even the gentle pitch of Park Avenue was enough to trigger its safeguards. When he finally reached the sidewalk, Woo broke into a grin. A man in the back seat of a stopped Uber leaned out his window, filming.

During testing of the Wandercraft exoskeleton, straps caused an abrasion on Robert Woo’s leg, which he documented as part of his feedback to the company. Robert Woo

Woo had recently completed seven sessions with the Wandercraft at the VA hospital and had been impressed overall. But at the showroom, he rolled up his pants leg to reveal an abrasion on his shin, the result of a strap that had worn away a patch of skin during a long walking session. He would later send Wandercraft a nine-page assessment with photos and a technology wish list, asking the company to work on things like padding, variable walking speeds, and deeper squats.

Wandercraft’s engineers relish that kind of user feedback, says CEO Matthieu Masselin. Exoskeletons are a far more difficult engineering problem than humanoid robots, he explains. “You basically have two systems of equal importance. You know about the robot—it’s fully quantified and measured. But you don’t know what the person is doing, and how the person is moving within the device.”

Since Woo began testing exoskeletons 15 years ago, both the technology and the market have made strides. ReWalk and Ekso won FDA clearance for clinical use in the 2010s, and both now sell home-use versions. The companies have sold thousands of exoskeletons to rehab clinics and personal users, and they see room for growth; in the United States alone, about 300,000 people live with spinal cord injuries, and millions more have mobility impairments from stroke, multiple sclerosis, or other conditions. The VA began supplying devices to eligible veterans in 2015, and Medicare recently established a system for reimbursement, a move that private insurers are beginning to follow. What was once experimental is slowly becoming established.

Researchers who test the devices say the technology still has significant limits. Pal, of the New Jersey Institute of Technology, mentions battery life, dexterity, and reliability as ongoing challenges. But, he says with a laugh, “Our bodies have evolved over many millions of years—these machines will need a bit more time.” Pal hopes the companies will keep pushing the technological frontier. “My lifetime goal is to see the day when someone like Robert Woo can wake up in the morning, put this device on, and then live an ordinary life.”

For Woo, the real question about the self-balancing Wandercraft was: Could he cook with it? In the VA hospital’s home mockup, he tried it out in the kitchen, stepping sideways to retrieve items from cabinets and squatting to grab something from the fridge’s lower shelf. For the first time in years, he could work at a counter without leaning on crutches. “The self-standing exoskeleton changes everything,” he says. He imagines a user placing a Thanksgiving turkey on a tray attached to the suit and walking it into the dining room.

Back in the showroom, Woo finishes the demo and brings the suit to a seated position before transferring back to his wheelchair. After so many years of testing prototypes, he’s now realistic about the technology’s timeline. A truly all-day exoskeleton—the kind you live in, the kind that replaces a wheelchair—may be a decade or more away. “It may not be for me,” he says. But that’s no longer the point. He’s thinking about young people who are newly injured, who are lying in hospital beds and trying to imagine how their lives can continue. “This will give them hope.”