Brilliant, but scary is one answer. Wildly ambitious, another. But what also binds these men (fictional or otherwise) together, is their shared conviction that the path to greatness should not be constricted by mortality. That through science or faith or magic, one can prolong their lives, preserve their bodies, and defy the certainty of death.
No one has proved to be successful in this endeavour but Bryan Johnson, a technology CEO in California, is hoping to change that. Johnson wants to reverse the process of aging and, according to his team of doctors, is already five years biologically younger than his age. Johnson maintains a strict health regimen and he is on track to spend $2 million this year alone on medical tests and procedures in a quest to reach the biological age of 18.
At some point in time, one would have come across the phrase ‘youth is wasted on the young’. While many may see it as a commentary on the naivety of adolescence, it is perhaps more reflective instead of the nostalgia and melancholy that comes with age.
According to a 2014 study from Pfizer, 87 per cent of Americans said they were afraid of getting old. Another study by Ispos Advisors found that on average globally, only 33 per cent of people are optimistic about aging. Amongst the middle aged, this discontent was even more profound.
However, whether or not aging produces existential angst or tempered optimism, across the board, the desire to look and feel younger is transitioning from fascination to obsession.
The anti-aging industry
According to the market research firm, Custom Market Insights, the global anti-aging market share was valued at $60 billion in 2021 and is expected to catapult to $120 billion by 2030. Additionally, the number of women aged between 19 and 34 who opt for botox rose by 41 per cent from 2011 to 2017, as per the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery.
Eileen Bradbury, a consultant psychologist from Cheshire, described this sudden uptick in cosmetic procedures as an addiction, an “inability to face aging,” in which people attempt to restore the difference between how they look and how they feel.
The modern anti-aging industry was started in the early 20th century by two barnstorming women — Helena Rubinstein and Elizabeth Arden. Rubeinstein was a brash Polish immigrant, and Arden, an avid feminist. Their fierce rivalry produced enormous success for both, and at the end, they passed 18 months apart. In his 2011 book, Branded Beauty, journalist Mark Tungate writes of the cosmetic pioneers duo, that “on the one hand, their products pleased, pampered and, yes, beautified millions of women. On the other hand, their advertising copy contrived to persuade their customers that aging was not only undesirable, but somehow shameful.”
And even though cosmetic companies have moved away from the term ‘anti-aging’, they tend to advertise results that are associated with youth. From preventing wrinkles to reducing dark spots, the branding conveys a clear message.
As Neutrogena controversially declared in a 2017 ad campaign featuring 51-year-old Nicole Kidman, “we’re not anti-aging, we’re anti-wrinkles.” Next to the message was a picture of Kidman along with Kerry Washington (41) and Jennifer Garner (46.) All three women are deemed old by conventional standards but their faces, smooth and flawless, told another story.
If skin creams, serums and cosmetic procedures weren’t enough, Silicon Valley has taken the fight against time to an entirely new level. Bolstered by advances in gene editing, venture capital-backed labs are developing ways to regulate cellular damage through the process of senescence. Put simply, they are devising methods to identify specific genes that play a role in the aging process, and then using gene editing technology to destroy them. Similar forms of genetic engineering have been successful in animals such as mice but are still largely untested and unproven amongst humans.
In order to reach the mainstream, these technologies have to convince investors that they can essentially play God. However, that in turn begs the question — should they?
British billionaire Jim Mellon would not only agree, but would take the project leaps and bounds further to the pursuit of immortality. Mellon, who has written a book on longevity titled Juvenescence, claims that prolonging life is the next rung in the ladder towards immortality. The current life-extensionist strategy relies on the assumption that at some point in the future, scientists will unlock the key to eternal life. Add a decade here and a decade there and eventually you’ll live long enough to defy death.
The age-old desire for youth
While these technologies seem new, they are rooted in an age-old desire to escape the ravages of time. Cleopatra bathed in the milk of asses. Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de Leon searched the ends of the earth for the fountain of eternal youth. The 16th century Hungarian countess Elizabeth Bathory covered herself in the blood of virgins.
However, while some battled fruitlessly against time, others perceived age as a source of pride and wisdom. In traditional societies the elderly were often seen as valuable resources and were honoured for their contributions to the community. They were often given a respected position in society and were expected to pass down their knowledge to younger generations.
In ancient Vedic tradition, Gurus were seen as catalysts for knowledge and the preservation of Hindu tradition. In Confucianism, filial piety, namely reverence and deference to elders, is a necessary trait for one to achieve perfection.
The ancient Greek philosopher Plato saw old age as a time of wisdom of reflection, believing that the soul’s journey through life was a process of purification and preparation for its ultimate reunion with the divine. The Roman statesman Cicero, who lived to the then ripe old age of 63, even likened old age to piloting a ship. While the young are needed to climb masts and pull ropes, the captain’s experience is equally as vital for navigating rough waters.
While some (including Plato’s most famous student, Aristotle) disagreed with these notions of aging, for the most part, advanced age was heralded as a victory against early death, which, contextually makes sense considering the high mortality rate at the time. Living to an old age took on a new meaning only in the 20th century which brought with it the advent of modern medicine, and most importantly, antibiotics.
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As recently as 1900, the average life expectancy for Americans was 47. That changed to 59 in 1930, to 69 by 1960, and to 75 by 1990, and has remained relatively stable since then. But from 1900 to 1990, life expectancy increased by 25 per cent. When people like William Shakespeare, Lord Tennyson and Geoffrey Chaucer wrote their love letters to aging, none were over the age of 50. They knew not of the physical decline that age accompanied.
As the Harvard School of Public Health notes in its assessment of healthy life expectancy, while life spans have increased, there has been a proportionate “increase in the absolute number of years lost to disability as life expectancy rises.” People are living longer but their quality of life declines sharply after a certain age.
Physiological and psychological effects of aging are somewhat well documented but equally important is the cultural impact.
The obsession with youth in popular culture
Society tends to place a high value on youth and physical appearance, with many people believing that looking young is a sign of beauty and vitality. As a trio of researchers write in Rethinking Aging, an article for the National Library of Medicine, how we perceive age is “cultural and social, as much as biological.”
While beauty standards are becoming more diverse over time, when one thinks of a model or an actress, particularly when it comes to women, the image is nearly always of someone who is or looks young. In Disney movies, for example, the princess and heroine are always young, while older women are usually evil step mothers or hideous witches.
Linda Outcalt, a researcher, set out to understand how our perceptions of age are shaped by popular culture in a far-reaching study conducted at the University of Victoria. Citing research that shows that older people are either stigmatised or underrepresented in popular culture, Outcalt argues that “lack of representation shifts older people into the background both on and off screen, where they slide into the shadows and eventually become invisible.” She further denounces the media for perpetuating a “cult of youth” by depicting young people as objects of beauty while relegating the elderly to the sidelines.
But if beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, why is there such a pervasive correlation between youth and good looks? According to Mari Tandinac, a psychologist at the University of Zagreb, the answer is purely evolutionary. Tandinac argues that “beauty is not a cultural construct and appreciating beauty is not learned but rather a biological adaptation, a part of universal human nature: the preferences for some physical characteristics reflect adaptations for mate choice because they signal aspects of mate quality.”
Simply, beauty is associated with sex, and sex with reproduction. According to the theory of sexual selection, traits that signal reproductive viability, most of which are seen predominantly in young people, are more likely to be adapted over time in order to ensure survival of the bloodline. From an evolutionary standpoint, men are, therefore, more likely to prefer young women with higher reproductive values. This in turn has fuelled the cultural perception of beauty being equated with youth.
In addition to popular culture depicting young people as more attractive, the cultural bias towards youth is also reflected in the workplace. According to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, while people in the 55 to 64 age group displayed a labour force participation of 64.7 per cent, that number fell to 26.6 per cent for individuals aged 65 to 74.
Additionally, the elderly are often deemed to be a burden to society as they are incapable of working and require more medical care. That perception is reinforced at times by policy makers and institutions. “Today, every 100 working-age Chinese need to support 20 retirees,” Oxford historian Rana Mitter wrote in The Spectator. “If trends continue, by the turn of the next century, every 100 workers will have to support 120 retirees.” Mitter is not alone in her concerns. The UN recently stated that China’s aging population would put a large strain on its economy, urging policy makers to facilitate higher fertility rates.
As French existential philosopher Simone de Beauvoir pointed out in her 1970 book, The Coming of Age, “old age has become the object of a policy.” Drawing upon the works of her contemporary and partner Jean Paul Sartre, Beauvoir writes that as people age and subsequently exit the workforce, they start to think they “no longer have any place on earth,” because their lives are devoid of meaning. The failure to properly care for elderly people, according to her, exposes the “failure of our entire civilisation.” To Beauvoir and many others, the elderly, no longer being able to contribute to the workforce, feel not only a profound loss of purpose but are also mistreated and under cared for.
As long as age is an oxymoronic juxtaposition, representing both an aberration and a certainty, the collective obsession with youth is unlikely to disappear anytime soon. Instead of promoting cultural stereotypes about beauty, viability and age, but also recognising the physiological realities of getting old, perhaps the best way to appreciate both youth and old age is to turn to the words of Polish poet Stanislaw Lec: “Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.”
