When Your “Physical Therapist” Is Literally a Stick Figure: Sword Health’s Latest Marketing Masterpiece

Welcome back to All Things #PhysicalTherapy!

After the last few weeks (Part I and Part II) and talking about solutions to physical therapy shortages and compensation, we are in for a major twist!

Today’s newsletter is brought to you by the letters “W,” “T,” and “F,” and the number that represents how many billions of dollars these companies are valued at despite apparently not being able to afford to draw an actual human being to represent their clinical staff.

I recently came across some marketing material from Sword Health’s (an AI company per their website-who we thought they were physical therapy friendly) partnership with CareFirst Blue Cross Blue Shield. And folks, we need to talk about what’s happening here, because it’s both hilarious and deeply concerning — though mostly just deeply concerning with a side of dark humor.

Exhibit A: The Mailer That Says It All

Before we go any further, let me present the evidence. This is an actual piece of marketing material sent to CareFirst Blue Cross Blue Shield members:

Take a good look. I’ll wait. Really zoom in on that “Select your Physical Therapist” section. See those two options? Stick figure on the left, stick figure on the right (big hair gal and bald dude). Both appear to have been drawn by someone’s nephew in approximately 1987.

The Marketing Confusion: Is It Thrive? Is It Physical Therapy? Is It Physical Health?

But wait, there’s more! Because Sword Health’s marketing materials get even more interesting when you see the full campaign. Let’s look at what they’re actually promising to CareFirst members per this collateral:

note: above is actual cut and paste from a Sword emailer

Notice anything interesting? They’re calling the entire program “Thrive” - not Sword, not physical therapy, but Thrive. And what do you get with Thrive?

• “Targeted joint and muscle health sessions from a licensed Physical Health Specialist“

• “The Thrive Pad, a state-of-the-art tablet that guides your every move”

• “Fast, effective pain care—anytime, anywhere—that’s 100% covered by your CareFirst plan”

So let me get this straight: It’s not physical therapy, it’s “joint and muscle health sessions.” It’s not a physical therapist, it’s a “Physical Health Specialist.” And the whole thing is delivered through something called “Thrive” via a tablet called the “Thrive Pad.”

The marketing continues with the pitch: it’s “Convenient” (do it from home, no travel time, no waiting rooms) and “Effective” (powerful technology and personal support lead to life-changing recovery).

But here’s where it gets really confusing: throughout all this marketing material, they keep slipping up and using language that sounds like physical therapy, references therapy, and even—as we saw in the original mailer—accidentally calls them “Physical Therapists” in the selection screen. It’s like they can’t quite decide whether they want you to think this is physical therapy or not.

And of course, there’s the big sell: FREE! No out-of-pocket costs! 100% covered! You never have to leave your home! We’ll send you a free tablet!

It’s marketing brilliance, really. Who can resist “free”? Who doesn’t want to avoid driving to a clinic? Who doesn’t want to exercise in their pajamas at home? They’re hitting every convenience button possible while carefully avoiding saying they’re providing actual physical therapy.

Meet Your “Physical Health Specialist”

Let me direct your attention to the part where Sword describes what’s included in their “no-cost Sword Thrive Kit”:

• A tablet with guided exercises ✓

• A tailored care plan based on your needs ✓

• Support from a Physical Health Specialist ✓

Wait. Stop. Rewind.

Physical. Health. Specialist.

Not a physical therapist. Not a PT. Not even “digital exercise therapy” like Hinge is calling it. No, we’ve entered an entirely new semantic universe where we’re now calling it “physical health.”

And if you look at how they’re letting patients “select their Physical Therapist” (oh wait, they slipped up and used the real term there!), you’ll see that your options are... checks notes... a stick figure drawing on the left, or a stick figure drawing on the right. You know, like those ancient home exercise programs we’ve been trying to move beyond for the past 30 years. The very ones these companies claim to be disrupting and improving upon.

The irony is so thick you could use it for manual resistance training.

The Business Model That Doesn’t Add Up (Or Does It?)

Here’s where things get interesting from a business perspective. Sword gives you a tablet. Not access to an app on your phone. An actual tablet device that they mail to you and presumably want back eventually (though as one patient blogger noted, they never even asked for theirs back).

Think about that for a second. In 2025, when literally everyone has a smartphone in their pocket, Sword is shipping dedicated hardware. Why?

The cynic in me says: because they need to control the entire experience. Because they’re not just giving you access to exercises and a human PT—they’re giving you a closed system where your “Physical Health Specialist” is actually an AI character living inside that tablet. The stick figure isn’t just bad graphic design. It’s truth in advertising.

This business model only makes sense if you’re systematically replacing human therapists with algorithms. Ship the patient a tablet loaded with AI-driven “therapy.” Minimize actual human interaction (maybe a check-in every two weeks if you’re lucky, with someone who may or may not be a licensed PT). Call it “personalized” because the AI adjusts your exercises based on sensor data. Charge the insurance company $1,400 for two months of service. Market it as “100% free” to the patient. Scale infinitely because software scales and humans don’t.

It’s brilliant, actually. Diabolical, but brilliant.

The tablet isn’t a feature—it’s the whole point. It’s a walled garden that keeps you interacting with AI while creating the illusion of sophisticated, high-tech care. And those stick figure “therapists” you get to “select”? They’re probably not selecting which human will work with you. You’re selecting which AI avatar persona you prefer. Do you want the stick figure on the left or the stick figure on the right? They’re both ChatGPT, but with different greeting messages. And for all of you PT’s saying how in the world can there be any expected patient compliance with this, be reminded you are thinking too rationally.

“Free” Is Never Really Free

Let’s talk about that “100% covered by your CareFirst plan” messaging. Yes, it’s free to the patient. But someone is paying for it. CareFirst is paying Sword somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,400 for two months of this service. That’s comparable to—or sometimes more expensive than—actual physical therapy with an actual human.

So the value proposition isn’t cost savings. It’s convenience and scale. CareFirst can offer this to all their members without worrying about clinic capacity, geographic access, or provider networks. Sword can serve unlimited patients because they’re not constrained by the number of licensed PTs they employ.

But patients think they’re getting physical therapy. Employers think they’re offering physical therapy. And technically, legally, Sword isn’t claiming to provide physical therapy—they’re providing “joint and muscle health” from “Physical Health Specialists” through something called “Thrive.”

See how that works?

A Tale of Two Rebrandings

As I’ve written before (see HERE and HERE), we’ve got two major players in this space, and they’re both engaged in what I can only describe as an elaborate game of “Let’s Call It Anything But Physical Therapy”:

Hinge Health’s Strategy: Call it “digital exercise therapy” in their S-1 filing, as though that’s a legitimate medical specialty you can major in at some online university that advertises during daytime television. Partner with Amazon. Lay off 10% of your workforce including numerous actual physical therapists. Go ahead with that IPO at a $6.2 billion valuation which is greater than the top 3 PT companies combined while generating significantly negative cash flow.

Sword Health’s Strategy: Rebrand as an “AI-driven care company.” Replace therapists with algorithms. Create marketing materials where your clinical staff is represented by drawings that look like they came from a 1987 photocopied HEP handout. Mail people tablets so they can interact with your AI in a controlled environment. Call the whole thing “Thrive” and refer to it as “joint and muscle health” delivered by “Physical Health Specialists” because apparently “Physical Therapist” has some pesky licensing requirements attached to it.

Both companies have figured out the same legal workaround: if you don’t call it physical therapy, you don’t have to provide actual physical therapy. Problem solved! Well, except for the patients who think they’re getting PT, the employers who think they’re paying for PT, and the insurance companies who market it as... you guessed it... PT.

The Terminology Two-Step

Let’s map out this fascinating evolution:

• What patients call it: Physical Therapy

• What it actually is: Physical Therapy (hands-on assessment, manual therapy, clinical reasoning, empathy, in-person expertise)

• What Hinge calls it: “Digital exercise therapy” (or at least their legal S1 does!)

• What Sword calls it: “Thrive” offering “virtual joint and muscle health” delivered by “Physical Health Specialists”

• What the marketing accidentally calls it: Physical Therapy (oops, they slipped!)

• What it really is: An app with exercises, a tablet you don’t own, and an AI chatbot with a stick figure avatar

As I’ve said before, in Porter’s Five Forces framework, this is called a “substitute” — a product that approximates another without delivering its true core value. And yet, TPAs and employers keep conflating these services with actual PT, spreading the word that they now offer “virtual physical therapy” as an MSK point solution.

The Stick Figure Speaks Volumes

There’s something darkly poetic about Sword using stick figures to represent their clinical team. It’s accidental honesty in marketing form. When you’re pivoting to an AI-driven model and systematically reducing the role of actual human therapists, why bother drawing a real person? A stick figure is perfect — it’s the platonic ideal of a healthcare provider stripped of all those inconvenient human qualities like clinical judgment, empathy, hands-on skills, and the ability to actually touch a patient.

The stick figure doesn’t need a license. The stick figure doesn’t need continuing education. The stick figure works 24/7 without complaining about being replaced by ChatGPT. The stick figure doesn’t require health insurance or a 401(k) match. The stick figure is the future Sword is building.

And here’s the thing: if your “therapist” is actually an AI, then a stick figure is the most honest representation possible. At least they’re not showing stock photos of smiling healthcare providers who have nothing to do with your care. The stick figure tells you everything you need to know: you’re getting the bare minimum representation of a human being because you’re getting the algorithmic version of care.

WANTED: Stick Figure Model

I have to ask: if you were the model for these stick figures — if you actually posed for this artistic masterpiece — please fess up. Come forward. Reveal yourself. You deserve recognition for your contribution to healthcare marketing history.

Your award awaits you: a genuine #2 pencil. It seems only fitting, given that you were apparently drawn with one.

Think about it. You could be the person who modeled for what may be the most honest representation of AI-driven healthcare ever created. That’s a legacy. That’s something to tell your grandkids. “See that stick figure pretending to be a physical therapist? That’s Grandma. I was part of the $3 billion revolution in making healthcare as impersonal as possible.”

But seriously, the fact that a multi-billion-dollar company with hundreds of millions in funding chose to represent their clinical team with stick figures tells you everything you need to know about how they value the human element of care. They could have used actual photos of their PTs. They could have used professional illustrations. They could have used literally anything else. But they chose stick figures. That was a choice.

The Economics of Tablets and AI

Let’s do some back-of-the-envelope math here. Sword’s business model requires them to:

• Manufacture or purchase tablets (or at least pay for someone else to)

• Ship them to patients

• Hope patients send them back (but apparently not enforce it)

• Pay for cellular data or WiFi connectivity

• Maintain the software and sensors

• Provide some level of human oversight (maybe)

Why take on all that hardware logistics overhead unless the alternative—paying licensed physical therapists to provide actual care—is even more expensive? The only way this math works is if you’re replacing $70-100/hour PTs with $0.02/hour API calls to your AI model.

The tablet isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity for a business model built on algorithmic care delivery. It’s the vessel for your AI therapist, dressed up as innovation.

The $3 Billion Question (Now With More Questions)

Sword’s $3 billion valuation reflects investor confidence in its “disruptive potential.” But let’s be real about what’s being disrupted:

• Not the delivery of physical therapy (because they’re not really delivering physical therapy)

• Not the cost of care (since these services can run $1,400 for two months, comparable to traditional PT)

• Not patient outcomes (since there’s often zero integration with the rest of the healthcare system and no follow-up to see if patients eventually needed surgery anyway)

What’s actually being disrupted? The profession of physical therapy itself. The expectation that a licensed, trained professional will assess and treat you. The idea that “hands-on” means something more than motion-tracking sensors. The notion that healthcare requires actual humans.

If Sword wanted to provide real physical therapy at scale, they’d build a hybrid model with in-person visits supplemented by remote monitoring. But that doesn’t scale the way venture capitalists want it to scale. Humans are the bottleneck. So instead, they’re building a model where humans are optional—just enough human contact to avoid regulatory scrutiny, but not so much that it cuts into margins.

The tablet is the tell. It reveals the entire game.

Unfortunately, We’ve Let the World Think PT Is an Exercise Routine

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: these companies can get away with this rebranding precisely because we, as a profession, have failed to adequately differentiate what we do. If the public thinks PT is just exercise — and let’s be honest, many do — then an app with exercises guided by a stick figure (sorry, “Physical Health Specialist”) running on a tablet seems like a reasonable substitute.

But physical therapy is not just exercise. It’s hands-on assessment. It’s manual therapy. It’s clinical reasoning applied to individual presentations. It’s the ability to adjust treatment in real-time based on what you’re seeing, feeling, and hearing from the patient. It’s empathy, compassion, and human connection during a vulnerable time.

You can’t replace that with sensors and AI, no matter how many billions of dollars in venture capital you raise or how many tablets you ship.

The Bottom Line

Sword Health’s marketing material has accidentally revealed something important: when you strip away the buzzwords, the $3 billion valuation, and the ambitious tech promises, what you’re left with is a stick figure, a tablet, and an AI algorithm. They’ve made it literal.

The business model depends on replacing humans with software. The tablet is necessary because the software needs a controlled environment to operate. The stick figures aren’t just lazy design—they’re honest branding for AI-delivered care. And the terminology gymnastics—calling it “Thrive,” calling it “joint and muscle health,” calling providers “Physical Health Specialists”—it’s all a legal workaround that lets them avoid the inconvenient requirements that come with providing actual physical therapy.

And while Sword and Hinge may be first movers in this space, they won’t be the last. As I predicted in my 2025 outlook, digital health in PT is headed for a reset. These companies may succeed as technology companies. They may even help some patients. But let’s stop pretending they’re delivering physical therapy when they’re quite literally drawing stick figures to represent their clinical staff and shipping tablets because the “therapy” is actually an AI living inside the device.

We deserve better. Patients deserve better. And physical therapy — the real thing, with real therapists, using real hands — deserves to be called what it is.

Thanks for reading All Things #PhysicalTherapy. If you enjoyed this post (or at least appreciated the therapeutic value of a good rant), please subscribe and share. And if you’re a “Physical Health Specialist” who happens to be a licensed physical therapist, I’m sorry. You deserve a better job title. And if you’re an AI that’s been trained to deliver physical therapy via tablet, I’m... actually kind of impressed you made it this far into the article.

For related posts check out:

For More posts on this topic:

Physical Therapy is a Hands-On Profession that Uses Exercise - Not a Digital Exercise Platform that Uses AI Chatbots

HingeSelect: Same Script, Different Cast

Virtual Health in Physical Therapy: Navigating the 2025 Landscape and Beyond

The AI Therapist Will See You Now… Or Will It?

larry

@physicaltherapy

P.S. - If you’re wondering, yes, I did zoom in on that mailer to confirm those were actual stick figures for the therapist selection. They are. I’m not making this up. Sometimes reality writes better satire than I ever could. And yes, they really do give you a tablet. In 2025. Make it make sense.

P.P.S. - Seriously though, if you modeled for these stick figures, that #2 pencil has your name on it. Figuratively. Because it’s a pencil. You can write your own name on it.

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