This is Optimizer. Victoria Song writes this weekly for The Verge to dissect the gizmos that promise to fix your life. Sign up if you want it.
Bryan Johnson has an autoimmune disease. He wants to live forever. It doesn’t help much.
He announced the diagnosis on June 30. The internet reacted. Usually. You expect sympathy. Instead? A wave of “I told you so” from wellness influencers.
Johnson is the biohacker guy. The one who spends millions to become a longevity experiment. Just him. Sample size of one. Netflix did a documentary about it. His routine involves over a hundred supplements. Constant blood tests. Wearable tracking. He eats plants. He sleeps strictly. He also uses plasma from his teenage son. Some might call that normal. They wouldn’t be right.
The disease is autoimmune gastritis, or AIG. It’s tricky to diagnose. His immune system attacks his stomach acid cells. Nutrients don’t absorb. Stomach cancer risk goes up. Not a great place to be.
But people didn’t just care. They gawked.
“This guy spends $2 million a year trying not to die,” says an influencer called organicbunny. She films a reel while fixing her hair. She suggests Botox or GLP-1 drugs caused it. No real proof. Just vibes and cherry-picked studies. She says you can’t inject health. She thinks Johnson is an example of failure.
Another theorizes on TikTok. “Hypervigilance trains your nervous system to see threats.” Makes sense, vaguely.
Another says his data strategy was flawed. “He ignored red meat. He ignored full-spectrum light. Bad things happen when you’re perfect on paper but ignore nature.”
Theories abound. Stress. Genetics. Sugary cereal in his youth? Maybe.
Johnson shares everything. He’s the Silicon Valley bro meets theater kid energy. Maxed out. Broadcasted. At the Enhanced Games, people mocked his sun goggles and parasol. Lately? He bragged about his girlfriend’s vaginal microbiome online. I wish I were making that up.
I’ve joked about him. Too. Like in The Verge’s summer list.
But influencers are missing the point. They treat his diagnosis as content. A punchline. They ignore why we optimize.
I don’t like Johnson’s philosophy. I like the fact that I die. It makes time precious. Finite things are better.
But I get it. Really.
Over the past decade, I’ve dealt with polycystic ovarian syndrome and non-alcoholic fatty liver. My journey looked like his. And I suspect yours might too, as wearables spread.
It starts small. A doctor says you’re heavy. Or just feels off. You buy a fitness tracker. Maybe you fix the issue. Done.
Often though, the data is unclear. Your body refuses to cooperate. Finding answers becomes a hunt. A hunt for perfection.
Johnson spent years being shrug off by doctors. His iron was low but not low enough for anemia labels. Despite supplements. It took a biopsy. Thirty doctors. Years of microscopic observation. A chronic illness narrative anyone recognizes.
Same for me. My blood sugar never said I was resistant. High cholesterol explained my liver enzymes away. It took fighting for answers. Dozens of wearables. Why was I so tired? Why didn’t running work like it should?
It’s dread. That feeling something is wrong but no one can say what.
Some criticism of Johnson is fair. Genetics won. Lifestyle can’t override everything. Optimizing too hard kills quality of life. At the core is fear. Fear of death. Data promises control. It lies sometimes. Measurable doesn’t mean fixable.
Health isn’t a race. There’s no finish line.
High sleep scores aren’t proof of a long life. Someone did everything right. Then they died of cancer. Or a freak accident. It sucks. Luck exists.
Biohacking isn’t evil. It’s a tool. Good for chronic illness. Good for building habits. But society is forgetting why we started. We think the tools are the life. They aren’t.
The goal is balance. Attention and ease. Sustainable living.
It requires discernment. Knowing when to ignore trends. Eating the birthday cake. The glucose spike is worth it. Then eating salad. Going on a walk. Accepting you can’t control death. You just live.
For me? Meds. Some tracking. Running. I avoid the hyper-quantified life. It hurt my head.
For Bryan Johnson? He’s sequencing one million immune cells. Looking for a cure.
I like that. Really do.
Though please. Less sex life updates. We get it.
