It’s mid-February and I’m staring at my reflection wondering when these forehead lines appeared. Death is creeping closer with every passing day, and soon I’ll hit 30. The existential dread is real.
Enter Bryan Johnson, the fintech founder turned longevity prophet who thinks he’s cracked the code on living forever. His latest offering? A cool $1 million annually to learn his “exact protocol” for reversing aging. He’s calling it “Immortals” because subtlety is dead, even if Johnson hopes he won’t be.
This is the same guy who got botox injections in his genitals and literally transfused blood from his teenage son into his veins. But sure, let’s trust his judgment on life extension. When have Technology billionaires ever steered us wrong?
The Million Dollar Question
According to Johnson’s announcement on X, only three spots exist for this exclusive program. It includes a dedicated concierge team, something called “BryanAI 24/7,” extensive testing, millions of biological data points, continuous tracking, skin and hair protocols, and access to cutting-edge therapies.
You can talk to an AI version of a guy who livestreams his psychedelic trips for “science.” What a time to be alive, or trying desperately to stay that way.
The problem? Most of us don’t have a spare million lying around. For the rest of humanity, Johnson graciously offers his overpriced olive oil as a consolation prize. It’s apparently peppery and smooth, which definitely sounds like something worth paying premium prices for when you’re chasing immortality on a budget.
The Longevity Gold Rush
Johnson isn’t alone in capitalizing on wealthy people’s fear of mortality. The ultra-rich have turned anti-aging into a full-blown obsession, and entrepreneurs are lining up to take their money.
John Hering, who’s bankrolled Elon Musk to the tune of billions, co-founded Biograph. This “preventative health and diagnostics clinic” charges $15,000 annually for its top-tier membership. Suddenly that seems almost reasonable compared to Johnson’s offering. Almost.
Then there’s Fountain Life, which has raised $108 million for its “ultimate longevity program” at $21,500 per year. Johnson’s program costs exponentially more, but remember, scarcity drives demand. Only three spots! And if you’re not quite ready for seven figures, there’s a mysterious “supported tier” for a mere $60,000.
The Business model is brilliant in its simplicity. Sell hope to people who have enough money to believe they can buy their way out of humanity’s oldest certainty.
The Immortality Complex
There’s nothing inherently wrong with wanting to live healthier or longer. Exercise is good. Eating vegetables makes sense. Getting regular checkups? Smart move.
But guys like Johnson have turned longevity into performance art. He’s not just suggesting we all take our vitamins and go for walks. He’s built an entire identity around consuming one hundred pills daily and eating mostly boiled vegetables while documenting every bodily function for content.
To his credit, Johnson isn’t forcing anyone to follow his extreme regimen. He’s just making it very easy for wealthy people to hand over massive amounts of money for access to his “secrets.” The tech elite have always been good at monetizing fear and aspiration.
This is the same ecosystem where Elon Musk casually suggests we shouldn’t bother saving for retirement because artificial general intelligence will create such economic abundance that poverty becomes obsolete. Why plan for old age when you can either become immortal or live in a post-scarcity utopia? Pick your sci-fi fantasy.
The Real Cost
My forehead wrinkle deepens knowing Johnson will probably fill those three spots without breaking a sweat. There are enough ultra-wealthy people terrified of aging who’ll gladly write that check.
Meanwhile, the rest of us are left scrolling through these announcements, simultaneously mocking the absurdity while secretly wondering if there’s something to it. What if Johnson actually is onto something? What if we’re the fools for not taking one hundred supplements and tracking our sleep down to the millisecond?
The answer, of course, is that we’re not. Common sense suggests that obsessively optimizing every biological function while living in constant fear of death isn’t actually living at all. It’s an expensive, time-consuming distraction wrapped in the language of optimization and self-improvement.
Johnson isn’t selling immortality. He’s selling the illusion of control in a world where we ultimately have very little, especially when it comes to our own mortality. And for a million dollars a year, some people are desperate enough to believe that illusion is worth every penny.
