The legs that nobody notices
Two years of walking with a Hypershell exoskeleton, told through two family holidays — and an honest answer to the question everyone asks: how much does it actually help?
This April, at dinner in a hotel restaurant, I took off my legs and put them under the table.
Nobody looked. The waiter didn't notice. The family at the next table didn't notice. My kids certainly didn't notice, because to them it's just what I do now, like taking off a coat.
Two years earlier, in a different hotel restaurant, I'd arrived on a mobility scooter. Every meal began with the same small ceremony: find somewhere to park it, work out how to get from it to the chair, and feel every eye in the room take part.
I want to tell you about the gap between those two dinners. It's the most honest thing I can say about what an exoskeleton has done for me.
The first holiday
I fell ill with ME/CFS in late 2022. For the best part of nine months I was mostly in bed. The first holiday after that — just over two years ago now — was meant to be a milestone. Look, we can still do this.
Here is what "doing this" actually looked like. A wheelchair through the airport. A hired mobility scooter to get round the hotel. Not once leaving the hotel grounds, because I couldn't.
It was a lovely hotel. My family had a nice time, I think. I can't honestly say I did. It would have been easier to be at home, and I spent a lot of that week quietly wishing I was.
I'd like to say the scooter was the practical problem — you can only go where you can hire one — but that wasn't really it. The real problem was that I hated being in it. A scooter tells every stranger you pass something about you before you've said a word, and I was conscious of it every second.
And don't get me started on the wheelchair. I understand that sometimes a wheelchair is the only option, and it's a fantastic tool when it is. But in a scooter you are at least the one driving. In a wheelchair — especially if, like me, you're no good at controlling one — you're not just visible. You're cargo.
The bet
I found out about the Hypershell the way most people find out about anything now: YouTube.
At the time it was new, unproven, and made by a company I'd never heard of. There was nowhere to try one on. There were no reviews from anyone like me. What there was, was a price tag that felt like a lot of money to hand to strangers on the strength of a few videos.
I was genuinely scared to spend it.
What tipped it was a question I couldn't get out of my head. What if it works? What if this is the thing? Against that, the risk of losing the money started to look small. I'm aware that's exactly how people talk themselves into bad decisions. It's also, as it turns out, how I made one of the best decisions of the last few years.
I'll say more about the practicalities of buying and setting up at the end, because they matter. But they're not the story.
Not trusting them
I'd love to tell you that I put them on, walked out of the front door and never looked back.
What actually happened is that I walked around the house.
For a good while, that's all I did. Kitchen to living room. Up the hall and back. I was tentative — not because they felt unsafe, but because I didn't yet believe them. When you've spent a long time learning exactly what your body can't do, it's surprisingly hard to accept that a machine strapped to your hips is going to change the answer.
The trust came slowly. A short walk outside. A slightly longer one. Eventually the point where I stopped thinking "will these help?" and started thinking "where shall we go?"
If you get a pair, expect this. It's not a sign that they don't work. It's just what it's like to relearn something.
What they actually do
Let me answer the question properly, because vague answers are no use to anyone.
Before the Hypershell, my walking was measured in hundreds of metres, and on plenty of days it wasn't happening at all. Now, on those days, I can put the legs on and walk those hundreds of metres anyway. On a good day I can walk kilometres, with plenty of rest built in around it.
I should be honest that I don't use them most days. That's not a criticism of the device; it's my energy, not its capability. But a few times a week, they're the difference between getting out of the house and not.
Here's the thing to understand about how they work. They assist you by up to about 39%. That's a share of what you can already do — not something added on top that you couldn't. If you can't walk at all, they can't walk for you. If you can walk a little, they can turn a little into a lot more.
So whether they're worth it depends entirely on where you are.
I've watched two people try mine on.
The first has trouble walking and fatigues quickly, especially on hills. I told them honestly what to expect: this is an assist, not a miracle. They tried them, and I think they were disappointed. It didn't do as much as they'd hoped. They've since decided it isn't for them — and I think that's the right call. For them, the help would have been nice. It wasn't the difference between anything and anything.
The second person's mobility is worse. They tried mine on, said the legs I have would be enough by themselves, went straight home and put down over £2,000 for the newest model, which doesn't even ship until November.
Same device. Two completely different verdicts. The difference wasn't the legs. It was how close each of them was to the edge.
When you're nowhere near the margin, 39% is a nice-to-have. When you're right at it — when the question is whether you leave the house at all — 39% is everything.
For the second person, the purchase was theoretically optional. Practically, it wasn't.
Being disabled, and looking disabled
The Hypershell is stealth. Most people don't notice them at all.
I can't overstate what that does for me. It makes me feel relatively normal, which turns out to be one of the most powerful things a piece of technology has ever done for me.
I've since realised I'd already been making the same choice elsewhere. Two of my three e-bikes don't look like e-bikes. If you know what to look for, you'll spot it — but most people don't, and I've been asked more than once whether they're electric. I love that question, because the asking means the answer wasn't obvious.
I think of the hierarchy like this. A wheelchair: visible, and someone else is moving you. A scooter: visible, but at least you're driving. The Hypershell: nobody notices, and it's your own legs doing the walking, just with some help.
It isn't the most powerful thing on that list. It's the one that gives back the most of yourself.
Being disabled and looking disabled are two completely different things. At least, it matters a great deal to me that they are.
The second holiday
Which brings me back to April.
I'm not going to pretend the energy problems went away, because they didn't. I still planned rest into every day. I still had to say no to things.
But I walked around the whole hotel on my own legs. I went on two day trips — actual trips, out of the grounds, to places. I spent more time with my kids in a week than I had on any holiday since I got ill.
On the way home, I needed a wheelchair through the airport. I was exhausted.
The difference is why. Two years earlier I'd been exhausted from a week of sitting still. This time I was exhausted because I'd done things. I'd earned it.
That's the gap between the two dinners. Not a cure. Not a transformation. Just the difference between a holiday I endured and a holiday I had.
So who is this actually for?
Not everyone, and I'd rather say so.
If your mobility needs are severe, this won't be enough. An assist only works if there's something to assist. That's the honest limit of the thing.
It doesn't provide back support, either — I get asked that a lot. It works on your legs and hips.
There are uses beyond mobility. You can run faster with it, or flip it into a resistance mode and train harder. I'm not dismissing those, though I'll admit that anyone choosing to jog is beyond my personal comprehension.
The sweet spot, I think, is someone like me. Someone who can walk, but who needs their heart rate and energy expenditure to be lower for the same distance. Whatever the reason — chronic fatigue, cardiac issues, recovery, age, or simply a body that's asking for a bit more help than it used to.
If that's you, this is an assist. It won't fix everything.
But it might be the difference between a holiday you endure and one you actually have. And I promise you that isn't a small thing.
If you're weighing one up and have questions — about whether it might suit you, what it's like day to day, anything I haven't covered — get in touch. I'm happy to help where I can. I remember what it was like trying to decide with nobody to ask.
Practical notes
The bits that matter if you're actually going to buy one.
Setup takes longer than you think
It's simple, but simple and effortless are different things. There's a firmware update, sizing to sort out, and the battery arrives nearly flat — mine was at 6% — which means you can't do the update or the fitting until it's charged. I had it in my head as a ten-minute job. It became something I couldn't finish in one sitting. If your energy is limited: charge it the day before, plan for two or three short sessions, and don't be shy about asking someone to help with the fitting.
Pro to X Ultra
I had the original Pro for about eighteen months and loved it. Then Hypershell got in touch, unprompted, and offered me a free replacement as an existing customer — this website didn't exist yet, and looking online they've done the same for others. They offered like-for-like; I asked whether an upgrade was possible, and they said yes. That conversation was only possible because they're a hardware company you can actually talk to, which is rarer than it should be. The box then sat unopened in my hallway for nearly three weeks because I was in a long fatigue episode. When I finally got it on, I was surprised: not night and day, but noticeably smoother, and smoother turns out to mean more enjoyable. When the alternative is not going out at all, enjoyable matters more than it sounds like it should.
Trying before buying
When I bought mine there was nowhere to try one. That's starting to change, so it's worth looking. If you can, do — and take an honest look at where you are on the margin before you decide.