Unpacking Longevity Fixation: A Personal Journey

It was a simple pitta bread that pushed Jason Wood over the edge. Instead of the vegetable crudités he had carefully ordered, he was presented with hummus at a restaurant he had meticulously researched for weeks before visiting with his husband. “In that moment, I just snapped,” he reflects. “I hit rock bottom; I got angry… then I started crying and shaking. I just felt utterly crushed by the pressure I was putting on myself.”

Now, at 40, Wood presents a calm demeanor. He appears neatly groomed, maybe even a bit too organized for some. But back then, his need for control had spiraled out of control. He monitored everything: his food (whether organic or raw), exercise regimens (working out twice a day, every day), and even tracked his heart rate and sleep patterns religiously. “I was living by those numbers,” he admits.

He would visit wellness clinics two to three times a month for vitamin IV drips and oxygen treatments, shelling out $250 to $300 each time for health benefits he struggled to articulate. Every six months, he requested extensive blood tests to analyze 15 to 20 biomarkers, and by his estimation, he had spent about $10,000 in total. Social events were no exception to his strict routine: “I was up before sunrise, around 4 am. I’d work out, have a light breakfast—maybe chia seed pudding—then lunch was usually chickpea salad… and so on,” he recalls. Dinner would be protein-rich, followed by a protein drink at 9 pm.

His drive? Living longer. Wood, who resides in Grand Rapids, Michigan, believed enhancing his lifespan couldn’t be a bad thing. However, after a breakdown, he recognized how deeply he feared death—an anxiety rooted in losing both parents to cancer at a young age. “There was just this fixation with living for as long as I could,” he shares. “This dialogue around longevity fuels insecurities and fears, leading us to spend money we might not have.”

Wood believes he was suffering from what’s informally termed longevity fixation syndrome, an anxiety-laden obsession with maximizing life expectancy. This term, introduced by Jan Gerber, CEO of the Swiss mental health clinic Paracelsus Recovery, has been encountered increasingly among patients exhibiting behaviors like Wood’s. Gerber also mentions a relationship between this fixation and orthorexia, a preoccupation with consuming only “clean” foods.

This dialogue around longevity plays into insecurities and fears, and makes us want to hand over our money.

Wood agrees with Gerber’s assessment: “Many of the underlying factors that fuel orthorexia are present in longevity fixation syndrome, but with this, you feel a greater number of variables you need to control—and that amps up the anxiety even more.”

A clinic in Zurich, which charges upwards of £88,000 for a four-week individualized mental health treatment program, has made some eyebrows raise at this new diagnosis. While the naming of disorders can be controversial, many therapists across the US and Europe acknowledge that these symptoms are becoming more common.

While fears surrounding death are nothing new—and neither are claims for solutions to mortality—today’s aspirations for extended lifespan have morphed beyond just following regimented diets and exercise. Indeed, a growing menu of “biohacks” touted for health benefits is now being provided by self-styled “longevity clinics.” This trend is reaching beyond the wealthy elite and becoming more accessible to a broader segment of society. A quick online search for longevity services in the UK yields several unexpected results.

Research funded by Silicon Valley began suggesting methods for aging reversal in the late 1990s, with forward-thinking ideas gaining traction. By 2023, the global market for complementary medicine focused on anti-aging and longevity was estimated at $63.6 billion, with projections of reaching $247.9 billion by 2030.

Celebrity culture has also taken notice. Orlando Bloom has reportedly undergone procedures to filter microplastics from his blood, and Jennifer Aniston favors peptide injections for skin care. Influencers like Kayla Barnes-Lentz and biologist Gary Brecka are vocal advocates for habits aimed at optimizing biology through various lifestyle changes.

At the extreme end of this spectrum, there’s Bryan Johnson, a venture capitalist aiming for virtual immortality. He’s engaged in controversial practices, such as using his son’s youthful plasma in attempts to reverse aging, and boasts about plans to achieve immortality by 2039.

Yet, a study published in 2022 found that no generation born after 1939 in 23 affluent, low-mortality nations is expected to reach an average age of 100. So, whether these biohacks genuinely promote longevity remains uncertain; the mental health implications for those seeking eternal life seem more obvious.

Mark, 26, from the Netherlands, describes how his anxiety over death led him to obsess over “health optimization” five years ago. His excessive deliberation over indulgences, ranging from an occasional beer to birthday cake, resulted in guilt that lingered for days. He took numerous supplements and exercised rigorously, even fearing blood pressure spikes could threaten his life.

Eventually, Mark sought therapy. “I had to retrain my mind to accept that what I feared was just a false alarm… to let those feelings exist without giving into them,” he explains. He recognized that physical wellness must coexist with mental health.

Clients at Balance Rehab Clinic, which has locations in various trendy locales, often receive bespoke programs focusing on chronic stress and trauma. The clinical director, Dr. Sarah Boss, believes about half of her clients show traits of longevity fixation syndrome, although many do not recognize their habits as problematic. Over the last two years, she has noted an uptick, particularly among wealthier clients who can afford such pursuits.

We see it more and more, especially in wealthy people. They are trying to measure everything, day and night.

Boss recounts a client under 40 who brought his hyperbaric oxygen chamber to the clinic and habitually consumed 15 different supplements. Another client, a woman in her 40s, was grappling with anxiety and using health-tracking tools while eating primarily “anti-aging” foods. After reducing her reliance on supplements and metrics, she reportedly returned to normalcy.

Often, childhood experiences influence these behaviors, which can stem from an “attachment trauma” or a profound fear of mortality. Boss notes that these sentiments have only intensified in light of the Covid pandemic, leading to a surge in the longevity industry filled with dubious promises. “You can buy a million things online…it’s growing at a rapid pace,” she remarks.

Patients at her clinic learn to connect with their bodies through activities like yoga and breath work instead of relying on data. This approach aims to recalibrate their nervous systems and engage in joyful activities. “Talking about acceptance of death helps people grasp their deeper issues,” Boss adds.

For Wood, it was embracing the inevitability of death that catalyzed his recovery. “I realized I am human, and death is part of life… it’s going to happen when it happens,” he reflects. Guided by his therapist, he removed tracking apps from his life and relaxed his rigid routines, much to his initial discomfort: “It felt like my security blanket was ripped away.”

Now, Wood serves as the director of community engagement at a US-based organization focused on anorexia nervosa support. However, he acknowledges the challenges of recovery in a world teeming with influencers and constant health-related content.

Lina Mookerjee, a senior psychotherapist in Cumbria, shares that around 75% of her clients exhibit symptoms related to longevity fixation syndrome. Though they might not engage in extreme biohacking, their anxiety about longevity has risen dramatically since the pandemic. “It was a major shift,” she notes, adding the fixation accompanies increased hypervigilance, often linked to feeling out of control.

Mookerjee observes that those with these symptoms are typically professionals, educated individuals in their 30s to 50s who find themselves second-guessing their judgment, leaning on gadgets for reassurance.

She has also noticed a “superhero syndrome” in some clients, who appear to be attempting to overcome prior loss or illness. “Once they recognize that ‘the driver for me is coming from deep-seated insecurity,’ a change begins,” she notes, allowing them to reduce their obsessive behaviors.

Mental health experts are increasingly acknowledging the adverse effects of this relentless pursuit of longevity. Amidst an era of health monitoring and data obsession, a growing number of voices are emerging to discuss the unhealthy side effects and to seek help.

“I witness the pain that longevity culture inflicts, the insecurities it feeds,” says Wood. “It’s refreshing to have a term that describes itwell. With a proper understanding, I believe more people can access the support they truly need.”