At 55, I’ve ditched pints for supplements – am I being conned?

 Not so long ago, the dad bod was a thing. In the 2010s, middle-aged men were told middle-aged spread was desirable. It was sexy to be pudgy and old, so we met in pubs, drank beer, ate kebabs and happily capitulated to age, lazily waving the white flag in the face of slowing metabolism and tapering testosterone levels. We succumbed to the siren call of the sofa – and biscuits.

But in the past half-decade something strange has happened. It started in Silicon Valley where rich tech bros started experimenting with immortality. They tried different pills and potions to slow or stop the aging process. There were IV vitamin drips, blood transfusions from younger men, hyperbaric oxygen chambers. We all laughed. Biohacking, as it was known, was for rich cranks.

We’re not laughing now.

Rebranded as ‘longevity’, this quest for eternal youth has seeped into the mainstream and is increasingly assimilating with standard models of wellness to form a new health ideology. This credo is part common sense – exercise, eat well, sleep well – and part fantasy – take magic pills, drink magic water and bathe in infrared and ice.

The paradigm shift between conventional healthcare and this new philosophy is evident in the number of private wellness clinics opening, mainly in cities, which blend orthodox medical services with off-label treatments such as testosterone replacement therapy and red-light saunas.

According to a 2023 PwC report, the longevity and anti-senescence therapeutics market (valued at $25.1 billion in 2020) has the potential to replace conventional healthcare and could be worth around $127 billion.

Is it any wonder then that pubs are emptying of middle-aged men, while gyms and Pilates studios are filling with them? You’ll notice this particularly at the moment because it’s Hyrox season. As a consequence, every weekend, every sled track in every gym is now populated by men burpee jumping like demented frogs and farmer-carrying a 20kg kettle bell in each hand. They’ll tell you they’re training to be Hyrox heroes, but what they’re actually doing is trying to outrun the cold hand of time.

The generation that formerly spent weekends necking disco biscuits in illegal raves now spend weekends at David Lloyd snarfing creatine and ashwagandha and arguing in the changing rooms over whether whey isolate is a better protein source than casein.

How I got obsessed with longevity

I know this because several years ago I decided to try to turn back the clock too. I was in my early forties, newly divorced and sick of being pallid and fat. I’d always been into fitness. I ran. I cycled. I boxed. But no matter what I seemed to do, the weight continued to pile on. I had worryingly regular bouts of acid reflux and lower back pain. Meanwhile, celebrities such as Daniel Craig and David Beckham seemed to defy age.

Meeting a younger woman (who became my wife), overhauling my diet and reducing booze led to a two and half stone weight loss. I joined a gym. I started using Boots No.7 moisturiser.

As the years rolled on, maintaining the level of fitness and energy I had in my forties became the real challenge. Which is why I started to get interested in the wellness and longevity ‘space’. It soon became an obsession. Today, at 55, I train seven days a week, I out-compete men half my age in HIIT classes and I spend a small fortune on supplements that I probably don’t need.

There are myriad reasons for this. The primal fear of chronic illness and death is a driver. But popular culture plays a part, too. It now sells an idealised male aesthetic in the same way it has done for women for decades. It started when Daniel Craig emerged from the sea in Casino Royale in 2006 (he was 38). Then there was Hugh Jackman, jacked to the eyeballs in The Wolverine in 2013 (he was 44). And then there was David Beckham in his Hugo Boss pants earlier this year, aged 50. This Morning’s mild-mannered Ben Shephard, also 50, is another biohacking bro. Like Becks, he recently appeared on the cover of Men’s Health magazine as he hit his half century.

A generation ago, Jack Nicholson was allowed to recede and expand into old age, and to the rest of us he still looked cool. That would never happen today. He’d be put on Mounjaro and sent off to Turkey for a hair transplant.

Ready to exploit these insecurities and fears is an industry which promises products that can help you live longer, live healthier and achieve your fitness and body goals.

Age defying icons have got in on the act: Beckham’s IM8 wellness brand includes a Daily Ultimate Longevity + Healthy Aging thingy, said to be “designed for cellular longevity”, with “Cell Rejuvenation Technology 8”, and advanced “NAD3 Complex”, to justify the £119 price tag for 30 super-serum servings.

Shephard has a partnership with supplement brand Heights, and he credits their Vitals+ pills with transforming his life and giving him renewed energy that allows him to power through his day.

Like so many men my age, I sit in the Venn diagram intersection of ‘mid-life crisis’, ‘not interested in golf’ and ‘questionable science’. Call us Pillennial Man, or Longevangelists.

There is a shared vernacular to this subculture. Pills are taken in ‘stacks’ and selected for functions such as ‘autophagy’, ‘cellular renewal’, ‘senescence’ and ‘mitochondrial support’. There’s healthspan, as opposed to lifespan. There are nootropics to boost brain activity and focus, and senolytics which kill ‘zombie cells’.

All this new ‘science’ proved exciting and enticing for someone who previously occasionally took cod liver oil and vitamin C.