It’s the middle of February, and the air is dry. There are fine lines emerging on my forehead, maybe because I don’t moisturize enough, but maybe as a harbinger of something greater: Each day I grow closer to my own death. Soon, I will be 30. I will never be younger than I am right now.
Fintech-founder-turned-longevity-guru Bryan Johnson has an offer that has caught my attention. For the low, low price of $1 million per year, I can pay him to show me the ropes of the “exact protocol” he’s followed for the last five years. He calls the program “Immortals.”
Yes, a guy who has received botox injections in his genitals will teach me how to supposedly reverse the process of aging. Why shouldn’t I believe that Bryan Johnson has uncovered the secrets to living longer than any other human? No, he has not yet proven his capacity to outlive all other humans. He was born in 1977, a year in which many current humans were born.
But why would I doubt the judgment of a guy who fortified his constitution with blood from his teenage son? When have the tech elite ever misled us? Should I also question when Elon Musk says that saving for retirement is irrelevant because AGI will create an economic abundance so great that no one will ever know poverty again?
According to Johnson’s post on X, this exclusive service — only three spots are available! — will include “a dedicated concierge team, BryanAI 24/7, extensive testing, millions of biological data points, continuous tracking, best skin and hair protocols, and access to the best therapies on market.”
I can talk to the AI version of a guy who livestreams himself doing shrooms for “science”? Sign me up!
Except I can’t. Because I do not have $1 million. Those like me will have to settle for buying Johnson’s overpriced olive oil in our pursuit of immortality (it’s peppery and smooth!).
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My emergent forehead wrinkle intensifies with the knowledge that Johnson will likely have an easy time filling up those three $1 million spots. Among the ultrawealthy, longevity has become an increasingly hot pursuit.
John Hering, who has given Musk billions of dollars in backing, co-founded Biograph, which describes itself as a preventative health and diagnostics clinic. Its most premium membership costs $15,000 a year (next to Johnson’s offering, it almost seems like a good deal … almost). A similar startup, Fountain Life, has raised $108 million to fund its “ultimate longevity program,” which charges a $21,500 annual fee. Sure, Johnson’s program is a lot more expensive, but remember, there’s only three spots! And if you’re still not ready to shell out seven figures, well, you can access a vague “supported tier” for $60,000.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to live a longer, healthier life, but longevity influencers like Johnson take this to an extreme that’s unattainable and (common sense would say) totally unnecessary for the average person.
In his defense, Johnson isn’t trying to proselytize us all into taking 100 pills a day and subsisting largely on boiled vegetables. But he’s also not depriving us of the chance to make him richer in exchange for his “secrets.”
