WI always ask very old people what their secret is. “Laughter,” some say. Olive oil, sex, cigarettes – I see the tight smile on the centenarian’s face as they roll out their line every birthday – rum, cold swims, early nights – while the secret is probably always: ‘Don’t die.’ And now, of course, that question has been brought into focus and attention again, as the longevity market, driven by the technology industry, is expected to be worth it. $44.2 billion by 2030.
It’s funny, one day you’re a young nerd writing BOOBS on a calculator, the next day you’re a middle-aged billionaire wearing an erection tracking ring and sucking teenagers’ blood to live forever. That includes the modern career of the “tech bro,” the people who made their money designing apps so boring they can’t be described in language, and then spent that money to become God. It bothers me. It bothers me! Not necessarily the research into longevity itself, the investment in preventing deadly diseases – no, please, go crazy on that – but the grim, empty attempts to extend the lives of people who already have it all.
As a woman born with eyes and skin, I believe I have some insight into the longevity market because it shares the promise of eternal youth with our old friend, the beauty industry. And isn’t this just anti-aging in a new dress? Bryan Johnson is the middle-aged biotech entrepreneur behind the “Don’t Die” movement. There have been countless profiles describing his attempts to live forever: how he wakes up at 4:30 a.m., gets bone marrow transplants, and sells something called high protein. Nutty pudding for $79. But the “problems” people like Johnson are trying to solve are well known: they are the problems of staying alive. It’s the issues associated with the way a body changes, but instead of being guided by the outward signs of decay, such as ‘fine lines and wrinkles’, it puts the inside at the forefront. By calling it longevity, rather than anti-aging, it attracts people who were previously less likely to think about how to “get your rosy tone back.” These are the people who research algorithms that will make you immortal, who dabble in gene therapy, and who only eat hummus.
But one reason why all these life-extending products have such a market beyond the billionaires, and why the wellness industry continues to grow and mutate, is because so many people feel uncared for and desperate; well-being exploits our loneliness. Longevity, as part of that industry, is profitable because of fear. The fear is not only that we will disappear when we die, but that we will be forgotten as we grow older. And companies make billions selling products containing blueberries to make us feel like we are in control of our own mortality.
What is still not clear to me, however, is why these longevity-seeking people want to stay alive. It feels like some kind of ungrateful race, rooted in fear of death, rather than a celebration of life. A solemn, panicked, hydrated scramble up the hill. Is this what life is for? Just try not to die? Certainly, staying alive longer is only worthwhile if the quality of life itself is valuable. Maybe it’s boring to say, maybe it seems like looking backwards, but rather than trying to halt the aging process, we should certainly focus on improving the communities for the people living today. And instead of extending the lives of a few to 120, we should focus on extending the lives of all those many millions of people around the world who are at risk of dying before they reach their thirties. We’re looking in the wrong direction.
However, isn’t it a shame that our descendants will only meet the worst people of our generation? Instead of the happy smokers, afternoon boners, or the guys who trade bad fun, instead of the friends who eat ice cream for breakfast, or who come alive after three pints on a warm evening, or the Big Mac artists, or those who stay up all night whining on WhatsApp, or the girls who laugh angrily, they will have a handful of the whitest, most divorced men in the world. These optimized 100-year-olds, their bodies shaped like lion bars, their eyes red staring at a land made of vitamins and serums – these are the people we pass a watch on in our wills.
And though their flesh may look young and their hair may be thick, their opinions, tastes, and ideas will all be deeply, impossibly, obscenely old. God, can’t you just imagine the world they will create for themselves? An underground retirement home where men play Candy Crush while connected to the veins of teenage boys who grow thinner and thinner despite eating troughs of liver and kale, a house remix of a Coldplay classic flowing softly through the walls.
Personally, I’m all for quality of life over quantity; Eighty long summers sounds good, about fifteen perfect novels to read and prestigious reality TV, and a soupçon of danger and lust. A handful of naughty friends, love, a pool in the shade, that kind of thing. I’ve discovered that one delightful bit of gossip can keep you busy for at least a decade. I would always choose pleasure and its attendant sins over the chance to outlive my family and peers, if only to avoid the fact that I was destined to face a life of perpetual sorrow, which I believe there is no life at all. I imagine that few would disagree, and yet we are led blindly towards a future where we, sane people, do not doubt the urge to extend, postpone and push the boundaries of time. It seems to me that the only people who really want to live forever are those who cannot find joy in the life they are living now.
Email Eva at e.wiseman@observer.co.uk or follow her on X @EvaWijseman