Longevity Obsessed? In search of eternal youth, red light helmets, and grandma’s secret to a good long life.

 

It’s a brisk Sunday in the Frankenwald. Somewhere between a slice of Zwetschgendatschi and a porcelain teacup rimmed with gold, my 98-year-old grandmother chuckles at the idea of injecting teenage plasma to reverse the clock. “Wozu? (what for)” she asks, spooning extra whipped cream onto her cake. It’s not that she doesn’t care about longevity. It’s just that she has better things to do. Like living.

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, a tech millionaire is attaching a device to his groin that tracks nocturnal wood and consumes more supplements daily than most of us will in a lifetime. His goal? Immortality—or at least a biological age you’d feel comfortable swiping right on.

Welcome to the era of Longevity Culture, where death isn’t just a natural conclusion—it’s a design flaw.

The War on Wrinkles

Aging, in case you haven’t been scrolling through the right Instagram accounts, is now classified by some as an illness. That means it can, theoretically, be cured. Enter the biohackers, the wellness warriors, and the Hollywood half-gods who, at 63, still play action heroes with suspiciously taut jawlines and suspiciously vague diets.

Brad Pitt, 61, would prefer not to sprint away from aging but rather have society accept it, in a chill, linen-shirt-on-the-Riviera kind of way. Fair enough, Brad. But for a man who launched an anti-aging skincare line, his stance feels less Zen monk and more luxury contradiction. Meanwhile, Sharon Stone (66) and Johnny Depp (61) are still thrown around as paragons of “Best Ager” vitality—proof that 50 is the new 30, especially if you’ve got a dermatologist on speed dial and a publicist to remind the world you still exist.

Of course, the marketing industry wasn’t going to let a little thing like mortality get in the way of growth. Enter the Silver Society, a euphemism cooked up in a boardroom to make “over 50” sound less like a countdown and more like a soft launch into eternity.

But what even is old these days? According to historian Pat Thane, the concept of “old” has always been... fuzzy. A catch-all term for anyone between 50 and 100+, which is basically the same range used by dating apps to filter out “age-inappropriate” matches. If that sounds like a moving target, it’s because it is—especially when 20-somethings are already dabbling in hyaluronic acid like it’s holy water.

Enter the Eternal Bro

Of course, if you’re Bryan Johnson, longevity isn’t just a vibe—it’s a mission. Johnson spends around $2 million a year on his own body, which makes you wonder if the fountain of youth is actually a very expensive indoor pool with its own lab team. His routine includes blood transfusions (from his teenage son, no less), LED skull therapy, and enough pills to fill a Duane Reade aisle. To him, every action that accelerates death is an act of violence. To my Oma? “Unpraktisch, (not practical)” she says, waving off the idea of giving up afternoon naps or cake for another 50 years.

And honestly? She might be on to something.

Because somewhere between crimson-lit helmets and five-day fasts that make Gwyneth Paltrow cry into her hibiscus tea, we’ve lost the plot. Sure, science is catching up to fantasy. We can measure our “biological age” with algorithms and spit into tubes that tell us we’re basically 34 on the inside. But longevity—real, fulfilling, age-defying life—has more to do with meaning than mitochondria.

Longevity Lite: Now in Vanilla

Let’s be honest: most of us aren’t ready to sell our blood or swap birthdays for lab reports. But we are dabbling. Omega-3s, cold plunges, intermittent fasting, yoga retreats, mushroom coffees—consider it the Lite Beer of immortality. A way to feel like we’re doing something, without giving up alcohol, carbs, or dignity.

Even the Goop-ified version—complete with a ProLon box and 700-calorie days—has found an audience. After all, who doesn’t want a younger liver, as long as they can still drink wine on weekends?

But as Oma points out between sips of lukewarm filterkaffee, none of it matters if you’re too exhausted to enjoy it. She doesn’t need a wellness tracker to know that joy, community, and a sense of purpose are better aging agents than Botox. And science—Harvard, no less—backs her up: close relationships are the number one predictor of long life.

The Immortal Soul of a Good Party

At her kitchen table, five generations gather. Kids run circles, adults reminisce, and old stories get retold for the umpteenth time. In the corner, someone snaps a photo to preserve the moment. Maybe one day, the kids will look back and remember this as the day they learned that living longer isn’t about fighting death—it’s about loving life enough to give it meaning.

Even Achilles, Hollywood’s ultimate man-god, knew it. “The gods envy us,” says Brad Pitt’s war-worn warrior in Troy. “Because we’re mortal. Because any moment might be our last.” That’s what makes life precious.

And Oma? With 98 years of wins and wounds behind her, she’s living proof that you don’t need red light therapy or $2 million supplements to age well. Just some cake, a laugh, and maybe a second glass of Sekt on your birthday.

So, who wants to live forever?

Not Oma. And maybe, not you either.

But to live well, even when it hurts a little, even when it ends?

Now that might be worth sticking around for.

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May your heart always be joyful, your skin always radiant (with or without retinol), and your coffee always hot.