By Meggen Harris
We’re living in an age obsessed with optimization. Cold plunges, continuous glucose monitors, red-light therapy, sleep data, peptides, biohacking — all in the name of longevity.
But lately, something strange has happened. The people most determined to live forever don’t look fully alive.
Bryan Johnson, the millionaire trying to reverse his biological age through an army of devices, doctors, and data points, looks more like a ghost of perfection than a vision of health. Years ago, I interviewed Dave Asprey — the self-proclaimed “Father of Biohacking” — for my Forbes column. He told me, completely straight-faced, that he planned to live to 180.
At the time, I remember thinking: Who’s paying for that?
Longevity sounds seductive until you realize how exclusionary it is. It’s not just about biology — it’s about privilege, access, and control.
When health becomes performance, vitality becomes a brand — and humanity takes a back seat.
The truth is, our obsession with “anti-aging” has turned into something darker. We’re not chasing health anymore; we’re chasing immortality. But what’s the point of living forever if joy, spontaneity, and connection get engineered out of the experience?
