From snail mucin to IV drips, longevity products and wellness supplements come at a high environmental cost. In reality, they’re doing little to fix the real threats to human health.

Our cultural obsession with slowing the aging process has reached an inflection point.

Within seconds of a morning alarm, thousands of people immediately reference an app to check their sleep score. Many of those same folks—and countless others—next reach for a pillbox and swallow a handful of supplements to achieve maximum health and prevent illness. Then, it’s on to a high-protein breakfast with all the right fats and zero carbs. More rigid devotees take things further: following a strict regimen of cold plunges and infrared saunas, rejuvenating IV drips, or collagen shots to boost immunity—or lathering snail mucin on their faces to prevent skin from aging. Epigenetic testing can even reveal your biological age, if you’re curious, and assess future risk.

A term once reserved for academic journals, “longevity” emerged as a cultural buzzword back in 2020 when the pandemic reframed how we think about health. Now, in 2025, Mckinsey’s Future of Wellness Report reveals that 60% of consumers rank healthy aging as a “top” or “very important” priority. The market is responding—but our obsession with buying our way out of aging may come at the cost of our actual health and wellness.

Demand for dietary supplements is booming: nearly 60% of adults in the United States now use them, while high-tech products that target long-term skin health and slow down cellular aging are everywhere. The Four Seasons in Maui started offering a longevity protocol complete with stem cell therapies; London’s Cloud Twelve clinic promises to reduce brain fog and promote hair growth with red light therapy helmets; and brands like OptimallyMe map out lifestyle routines for stronger muscles, optimized sleep, and stress management. Bryan Johnson, the tech entrepreneur turned biohacking poster child, has even launched the Rejuvenation Olympics, a competition in which participants flaunt their shrinking biological age as a form of social capital. 

In today’s marketplace, it seems there’s a glossy solution for every biological concern if you can afford it. But can the $6.3 trillion wellness industry deliver on its promise of longevity? 

Amrita Bhasin, the CEO of climate tech company Sotira, thinks not. “Scientifically, longevity [looks at] reducing the number of preventable deaths. It takes a community perspective,” she said. “Wellness sees it in a capitalist sense where an upper echelon belonging to a specific class and race are able to access and afford these treatments, cheating the system for personal gain.While the rich microdose on supplements, large populations are battling food deserts.” A study published in 2020 by the University College London found that in the U.S. and U.K., the richest third of individuals live seven to nine more healthy years than the poorest third. Bhasin compares wellness to the trend of wealthy Americans reserving spots at top pre-schools before their child is even born, securing their lineage by locking others out. 

“Why are anti-aging hacks and luxury retreats treated as solutions while systemic failures—like health care inequality and environmental collapse—continue to erode our ability to live long, healthy lives?”

Darshita Goyal, writer

The illusion of self-determination packaged as supplements and beauty retreats comes at a planetary cost, too, potentially undermining the very health these products and experiences purport to protect. Take Omega-3 supplements. Traditionally made from fish oil, their demand leads to over-harvesting of small fish and contributes to irreversible ocean pollution. Similarly, collagen shots that enhance skin elasticity are derived from animal byproducts and exert paramount strain on livestock. Reports have also linked popular collagen brands to deforestation in the Amazon Rainforest.

“We need to account for the cradle-to-grave emission of these products, right from the sourcing of the raw materials down to discarding leftovers in landfills,” said sustainability consultant Ayesha Mehrotra. “At a production level, whether it is dehydration, chemical processing, or creating a careful composition of ingredients, it harnesses massive amounts of energy and water. The largest consequence of all manufactured products is end of life: These pills, powders, and syrups often come in glossy packaging that is not recyclable.” 

Scientific backing for many of these therapies is also thin. “I recently read a study on taurine [an amino acid popular for heart health and anti-aging] that revealed there’s no research to support its claimed benefits,” said Julie Sze, a professor at University of California, Davis, who researches environmental injustice, community health, and inequality. “I also asked my doctor if I should be on magnesium supplements and she said the same.” Instead of spending thousands of dollars chasing wellness, Sze urges a closer look at how our consumption of microplastics is increasing the risk of disease—which is scientifically backed—and the fact that microplastic concentrations in human brains grew by 50% from 2016-2024.

Why are anti-aging hacks and luxury retreats treated as solutions while systemic failures—like health care inequality and environmental collapse—continue to erode our ability to live long, healthy lives? Air pollution in 2021 contributed to an estimated 8.1 million deaths globally, according to the State of Global Air report, representing the second-highest risk factor for death worldwide. Also in 2021, the pressed oilseed market was valued at $253.2 billion, largely due to rising supplement sales among health-conscious and wealthy consumers (that number reached  $310.8 billion in 2024). Meanwhile, rising temperatures shorten life expectancy by almost half a year for every degree Celsius increase, disproportionately impacting low-income and vulnerable populations.

At a recent wellness retreat for entrepreneurs in Palm Springs, California, Bhasin said she was struck by how many practices had been borrowed, often superficially, from South Asia. “They had cow ceremonies, Ayurvedic treatments, and turmeric drinks created for a primarily white audience,” she said. Meanwhile, many American wellness products, including collagen and creatine supplements, are tested and sourced in the Global South, often at the expense of local communities. The wellness industry, she notes, continues to prioritize the health of the wealthy and Western. 

Gender bias is also embedded in the culture of modern wellness. Cold plunges and ice baths have become synonymous with self-care, yet a study published in May showed they may not deliver the same metabolic benefits for women and could even subject them to hormonal imbalance and physiological stress. Historically, clinical research has focused on white, male bodies; wellness trends often follow the same pattern. Mehrotra compares this to the marketing of athleisure. “Lululemon, Alo, and other brands sold their products claiming to make exercise and fitness easier for women’s bodies,” she said. “But growing evidence shows that synthetic materials used in activewear interferes with menstrual cycles and impacts fertility.” She warns that longevity treatments could suffer from a similar lack of gender-specific research. 

Maintaining a broad, systems-level view of health can be difficult when social media have packaged productivity and optimization as a necessity for success. And wellness has emerged as one of the clearest expressions of privilege: not only do you have the money, but also the foresight and access needed to keep up with new-age retreats and cutting-edge treatments. 

Achieving true longevity requires reframing wellness as a collective project, not a personal optimization plan. Regulating production systems for the world’s biggest polluters—including fast fashion, big pharma, and the fossil-fuel industry—is far more supportive of cardiovascular health than infrared sauna sessions. Wellness, reframed through the lens of justice, means returning to small-scale Indigenous practice; recognizing that climate health and human health are inseparable; and demanding access to clean water and clean air globally as fundamental human rights. 

This, Bhasin argues, is precisely why the wellness industry is fundamentally incompatible with environmental justice. As long as wellness remains an industry, she notes, it will continue to monetize insecurity and manufacture new micro-crises to solve. “It’s hard to align wellness with climate safety because if the industry cares about collective wellbeing it would cut into its own revenue and that isn’t realistic,” she said. “But that’s why it’s important for us to think about longevity critically: because the system we are under will always favour passive consumption and steer misinformation to gain profits.”

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