I’m a cliche, I know. Like so many privileged, middle-aged men today, I’m increasingly obsessed with my health span. It’s not just about extending lifespan anymore but rather ensuring that quality of life remains high until the end—which, ideally, comes moments after I finish an ice-cold gin martini, though not too soon. So, I have embraced the longevity movement in moderation, avoiding the extremes that Bryan Johnson and company insist are essential, while tweaking my lifestyle at the edges for maximum impact. One such effort: I took a genetic test in August 2024 to see which markers for disease I might carry. I was not unduly worried; my family is remarkably healthy. My mother, nearly 94, has no chronic medical conditions and still lives alone at home, and my father was completely fit until just months before he died at 91.
Even so, I was unprepared for the news. Sure enough, the test turned up no worrisome markers for cancer, Alzheimer’s, or the like. More intriguingly, it flagged a mutation known as KL-VS, which I learned is estimated to occur in perhaps as few as one or two in 20 people. “You are a lucky, lucky man,” the doctor told me, with theatrical flair.
It was good news. My genetic quirk bolsters the levels of a naturally produced protein called Klotho, which has become one of the longevity industry’s current obsessions. Klotho is extraordinary, if still only partially understood: a gene that has emerged as the loudest buzzword in age-fighting medicine. Forget stem cells. The true pioneers are jonesing for a jab of the stuff, and a raft of entrepreneurs are jostling to become the go-to providers of this bleeding-edge therapy.
