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Living forever has become the wellness and marketing trend of the 2020s. But cheating death—or at least delaying it—will come at a price.

What was once the domain of and the is increasingly becoming a consumer product. Those pushing the idea, spearheaded by tech billionaire Bryan Johnson's "" movement, believe death isn't inevitable, but is a solvable problem.

The global longevity market—spanning , , and —is projected to hit this year. At its core, the marketing of these products feeds off the age-old and the .

But while the marketing is reaching the masses, this is still very much a luxury product. Immortality is being sold as . It's not just about living longer—it's about status, controlling biology and being your "best future self."

Tapping into long-held fears

What's known as "" puts forward the idea that humans and other animals have an instinctive drive for self-preservation. But humans are not only self-aware, they are also able to anticipate future outcomes—including the inevitability of death.

The messaging behind the push to extend life taps into this internal tension between knowledge of our own mortality and the self-preservation instinct. And to be fair, it is not a new phenomenon.

Cryonics—the preservation of bodies and brains at extremely low temperatures with the hope medical advancements will allow for their revival at some point in the future—was first popularized in Robert Ettinger's 1962 book .

Since then, the promising to preserve their bodies for some unknown future date. It now .

What's truly new is how death is being marketed—not as fate, but as a flaw. Longevity isn't just about living longer; it's about turning mortality into a design problem, something to delay, manage and eventually solve.

"Biohacking" sells the idea that with the right data, tools and discipline, you can upgrade your biology—and become your best, most .

This pitch aged 30 to 60, people already fluent in the —a mindset focused on maximizing performance, productivity and longevity through data.

The brands behind the living forever movement sell control, optimization and elite identity. Aging becomes a personal failure. Anti-aging is self-discipline. Consumers are cast as CEOs of their own health—tracking sleep, fixing their gut and taking supplements.

From biohacks to consumer branding

There are now more than 700 companies . Startups such as and offer DNA testing, supplements and personalized health plans.

These aren't medical treatments—they're sold as and are pitched with the over what once might have seemed uncontrollable.

Don't Die's Bryan Johnson on his personal anti-aging experiment.

But the real pitch is to consumers: buy back time, one premium subscription at a time. Johnson's company offers diagnostics, supplements and exercise routines bundled into starting at $333 and climbing to over $1,600.

Longevity products promise more than health. They promise time, control and even immortality. But the quest to live forever, or at least a lot longer, raises moral and ethical questions about who benefits, and what kind of world is being created.

Without thoughtful oversight, these technologies risk becoming tools of exclusion, not progress. Because if time becomes a product, not everyone will get to check out at the same counter.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.