When I’m dodging push notifications about ongoing geopolitical conflicts and the various other disasters that will become a given in 2026, I’m reviewing the blurbs flooding my inbox as a beauty writer. Once a disconcerting and unexpected visitor, the subject is now a long-lived and all-too-comfortable resident.
“Mitochondrial health is all the rage on TikTok,” he declared, and then tried to convince me by recommending red light therapy. Another person swears that a $258 platelet-derived serum is the secret to “true skin longevity.”
Someone asked the question on everyone’s mind: “What is regenerative aesthetics?” (I actually read this, and this source says it’s as “easy” as Sculptra, PRF, and microneedling to stimulate collagen.) When an influencer posts a cutting-edge treatment that involves applying DNA fragments isolated from salmon sperm to their face, I’ve probably already received a full article from the brand’s PR agency.
In a conversation with Forbes, Milvia Di Gioia, head of regenerative aesthetics at London’s Reborn Clinic, explains that longevity in beauty and health is “the optimization of biological functions to maintain vitality, strengthen resilience and reduce the effects of genetic or acquired vulnerabilities.” Longevity cosmetics address the molecular signatures of aging and enhance skin and body health at a cellular level. This is the final frontier (for now) of “anti-aging,” and the beauty and wellness industries are betting everything on it, in the pursuit of preserving one’s appearance and biology in amber.
I don’t really understand why time stops. Not now. As one of the estimated 72.9 million Americans trying to make a living as a full-time freelancer, I’m not sure I can do it. After all, what will it be like to live to 100 if you can barely afford it by age 32?
It feels like we’re broadcasting live from within an absurd bubble, where someone gives away products for a living, threading the needle between beauty and the tangible pressures of a life where more than half of Americans worry about making ends meet. Food and gasoline prices have soared thanks to disruptions from global conflicts that have affected countless supply chains. (Just out of curiosity, fellow citizens, are we splurging on orange juice or a 30-day supply of $125 longevity supplements?) A recent study found that to “live comfortably” in the least expensive state in the United States, an individual needs to earn at least $81,000 a year (half of whom need more than $100,000), while the national average annual income is about $62,000. That’s only $12,000 more than the cost of an all-access annual membership at the Longevity Clinic in El Segundo, Calif., a great bargain for a medical center that boasts Reiki, acupuncture, and a 6,500-square-foot pickleball facility. While the elite pick up their paddles after resting like vampires in hyperbaric oxygen chambers, 87% of Americans (out of 5,000 surveyed in December 2025) believe the country is in crisis because it can’t afford it.
These numbers should send a chill through the hallowed boardrooms where cosmetics and wellness giants scrutinize, analyze, and decide what’s next for beauty. Instead, we are witnessing a marketing boom centered around these prohibitively expensive products and services. I found myself shouting the same thing into the void over and over again. The beauty industry needs a wake-up call.
I found myself shouting the same thing into the void over and over again. The beauty industry needs a wake-up call.
