How Old Are You? Pay $799 Here to Answer

Medscape

23-05-2025

Jeffrey Benabio, MD, MBA
Last week, I had brunch with a professional athlete — the kind people queue up for autographs. I thought of asking for one, but there wasn't a right moment between "nice to meet you" and "Hey, could you pass the maple syrup?" She is a friend of a friend and, as is true of most people, including celebrity athletes, quite nice. "What's next for you?" we wondered as she nears retirement. "I'm trying to live to 120," she replied, humbly but seriously.
Years ago, that answer would have sounded kooky. How would one even attempt such a thing? Other than following the regimen of Jeanne Calment— quit working, drink port before dinner, and smoke a cigarette at bedtime. Calment remains the longevity world champion, having exceeded Easter Wiggins's record of 116 years in 1991 before passing away in 1997 at the age of 122. She is the only human verified to have lived past 120. To declare you're trying to break a record that billions have failed to achieve is ambitious. But then again, I've never had anyone ask for my autograph — maybe I'm setting my goals too low.
None of us were surprised by her answer; living long is having a moment. Silicon Valley types, bored of being merely rich, have turned their sights toward living long enough to spend their fortunes. Venture capitalists are pouring billions into startups with names like "Forever Labs" and "Superpower." Longevity medicine is everywhere — podcasts, bestseller lists, even my neighborhood coffee shop, which offers something called a "cellular regeneration latte" for $17.
This represents a shift in how we think about medicine. Physician-podcaster Peter Attia, MD, describes the next era as 'Medicine 3.0,' a personalized and proactive alternative to the reactive, one-size-fits-all model of traditional healthcare. In this vision, prevention goes beyond vaccines and cholesterol checks to include continuous biometric monitoring, targeted supplementation, and algorithm-informed lifestyle choices. The promise? A longer 'health span' — more years lived in good health — and a compressed period of decline before death.
The movement is seductive. It blends precision science with empowerment and self-optimization. But it also comes with caveats: high costs, uneven evidence, and a tendency to overemphasize what's measurable. This is what social scientist Daniel Yankelovich called the 'McNamara fallacy,' named after the Vietnam-era defense secretary who prioritized only what could be quantified — body counts, troop levels — while ignoring the human complexity of war. The same fallacy looms over longevity medicine: What's easy to track isn't always what matters most.
Yet receiving your biological age number, which you paid $799 for, feels significant. If you're 53 and it says your biological age is 43, you feel like you got your money's worth! You can now feel smug around your fast-aging friends. (If it says 63, then better double up on your supplements). Either way, you likely have misplaced confidence in what you've learned. Different tests often give wildly different results. That doesn't make them worthless, but their precision masks a lack of clear meaning. Meanwhile, unquantifiable things like joy, purpose, and connection might do just as much for aging well, but there isn't a telomere test for those.
The data-driven approach also skews incentives. If a supplement reliably increases NAD+ levels, it can be marketed around that metric, even if there's no proof that higher NAD+ leads to a longer or healthier life. Meanwhile, research by epidemiologist Jay Olshansky shows that, despite vast technological gains, improvements in life expectancy have slowed since 1990. Even a major intervention — say, reducing all-cause mortality by 20% — would only add a couple of years to the average American life. No supplement or space-age mattress comes close to that impact. So, while some gains may be real, they are likely smaller than we imagine — or than we're being sold.
The odds of living to 100 have increased but remain slim. Proven strategies for increasing health span are well known: Eat well, exercise, limit alcohol, foster relationships, and choose your parents wisely. Most other protocols are unproven.
Sure, you can spend your discretionary income on longevity hacks. Or you can spend it on having more children. (Ironically, having three or more appears to decrease life expectancy — but what a life it is!). I plan to live as long as I can but not at the expense of things that matter.
I exercise, drink lightly, take a few vitamins, and love abundantly. I'm not trying to cheat death, just stay connected to this body that carries me through the world and to the people who deserve my care and attention for however long I get to be here.
Importantly, although extending life is the goal, researchers haven't yet shown that morbidity can be meaningfully compressed. Living even more years with pain, macular degeneration, hearing loss, dementia, or heart failure is a mixed blessing. As one of my elderly patients once put it: 'People are stupid to think living to 100 is something to achieve, instead of something that happens to you if you're unlucky enough not to die younger.'
As for our athlete friend, she has some statistical advantages. Professional athletes tend to live about 5 years longer than average. (Though apparently, making the Hall of Fame cancels that benefit — perhaps Pete Rose had the last laugh). With the current US life expectancy for women at 80.2 years, she's likely to make it to 85.2.
She still has 35 years to go for 120. That's a lot of curcumin.