I am scheduled to die on August 10, 2060, at the age of 74.
So says my iPhone screen, where Death Clock, an AI-powered longevity app that predicts life expectancy based on your medical habits and lifestyle, has produced an image of a smiling grim reaper to celebrate my expiration date. There he was one September morning, looking especially thrilled about the reveal, gesturing with a peace sign as he reclined in a doughnut-shaped pool inflatable under that giant number: 74.
I have never resented getting older, but I suppose that’s younger than I’d like to be when my time is up. In the last four years—years that brought the passing of my grandmother and aunt within 18 months—I’ve become hyperaware of how finite my days are. Since turning 40 in January, I’ve also experienced daily reminders of aging: inexplicable pains that rotate between my back, neck, and hips. Spiritually, I feel young; physically, my body screams otherwise. Aging is natural, but I had a creeping suspicion I could buy myself more time.
Our collective obsession with life extension has given rise to a multitrillion-dollar longevity industry, bolstered by wannabe prophets like Bryan Johnson. Threats like climate change and AI doomerism only seem to have intensified existential fears, even as LLMs promise a new era of personalized medicine to address any health issue. Track enough pieces of data, the thinking goes, and algorithms can help you hack your own demise.
All of which led me to Death Clock, an app launched in 2024 aimed at tracking users’ health habits in an attempt to prolong their lives. In February, the company announced a new feature that lets you order biomarker panels. For a $69 subscription, you can get a basic blood panel that measures things like cholesterol, blood sugars, inflammation, vitamin D, and blood and organ health. There are also nine additional tests—assessing everything from hormones and micronutrients to your thyroid—that, altogether, cost $780. I opted for the routine blood panel and added the “stress” test ($29). Maybe some new insight could help me get a handle on it.
In an attempt to be more than another morbid countdown gimmick, Death Clock says it’s trained its AI on 1,200 longevity studies, actuarial data from life insurance companies, and life expectancy tables. Based on your results, its algorithms create a detailed prevention plan intended to help extend the time you have left.
Frankly, I was skeptical that anything meaningful would actually come from this. I was also, I can admit, a little fearful that I’d learn something I didn’t want to, a fact that might dissolve the little sanity I had left in a year that had already brought its share of unexpected problems.
After filling out an initial health questionnaire, a notification buzzed, forewarning my demise. There are three ways I will likely perish, it said: cardiovascular disease, a sleep disorder, or cancer (it doesn’t specify which type). This means, according to the app, I have already “completed” more than half of my existence on this mortal plane. A few days later, when I noted that my family has a mild history of diabetes, the app updated my age of death from 74 to 73.