Want to live forever? You’re in weird company. Here are 10 immortalists their fear of death manifested in truly peculiar ways.
10 David Murdock
Ever since the tragic loss of his third wife and two of his three sons, billionaire David Murdock—former Dole chairman—has been fixated on stretching human lifespan. Now a centenarian, his impatience is palpable. He constantly nudges the scientists at the North Carolina Research Campus, a $500 million longevity hub he built, to speed up progress. In the meantime, he tells younger relatives they’ll likely die before he does. Back in 2006, he warned a demolition crew clearing ground for the campus that “you’ll probably die before this job’s finished, because you’re so fat and unhealthy,” even joking about a plus‑size coffin his family would need. He’s also amassing blood samples from roughly 50,000 nearby residents to track health trends over decades.
At the core of Murdock’s regimen (and that of his hand‑picked researchers) lies a plant‑heavy diet. A typical lunch could include a six‑fruit smoothie, a green salad tossed with nuts, a soup brimming with eight different vegetables and beans, plus a modest portion of grilled fish accompanied by carrots, broccoli, and whole‑grain rice. He shuns meat, dairy, sugar, salt, and alcohol, and even limits sunlight exposure—craving vitamin D without the skin‑cancer risk. He once had precancerous facial growths excised without anesthesia because he avoids pharmaceuticals whenever possible.
A recent interview (which he cut short after the journalist left a sip of juice, retorting “You’ll go before me”) revealed a man who seems a bit adrift; no amount of wellness rituals can fill his void. Though a devout Christian, he doubts an afterlife, asking, “People think God’s waiting at the gate to shake hands with everyone coming through?” He muses that death might simply be a blank.
9 David Sinclair
Geneticist and longevity guru David Sinclair practices a 16‑hour daily fast and caps his caloric intake at 1,000 calories, strictly plant‑based. He skips breakfast entirely. Sinclair argues that three meals plus snacks signal abundance to the body, effectively turning off the genes that promote longevity. He began “working on” his age in his thirties by ditching sugar and adding resveratrol, but advises starting fasting in the twenties—just not to the point of starvation. His sweet spot is 16‑18 hours of fasting, typically ending with a late lunch or hefty dinner.
Although he knows eight hours of sleep is ideal, Sinclair averages six nightly. He compensates with a high‑tech bed that modulates body temperature—cooling him down before warming him back up toward morning—to foster deep sleep, while also monitoring heart rate.
Sinclair envisions his venture, Tally Health, evolving into a personal wellness assistant. He dreams of a device that can dictate exactly what to order at a restaurant and whether to skip dessert, tailoring recommendations to individual biology.
8 Dave Asprey
Bulletproof founder Dave Asprey was a 300‑pound hacker in his twenties, perpetually feeling unwell. After shedding excess weight, he still adds a knob of butter to his coffee, touting coffee as a superfood and butter as its perfect companion. Near fifty, Asprey aims to outlive a century and a third.
His daily routine starts at 7 a.m., offering gratitude to no one in particular, brewing coffee for his family, and gulping down a “handful of supplements”—roughly 40‑50 pills, down from a peak of 150. These include mitochondrial boosters, peptides, and other anti‑aging compounds, many of which he’s personally developed. He also takes probiotics and minerals before dropping his kids at school. Post‑work, he spends 45 minutes on biohacking: red‑light therapy, neurofeedback, vibrating‑platform squats, or resistance‑band workouts with blood‑flow restriction.
To stabilize his blood sugar, Asprey wears a continuous glucose monitor from a company he backs.
7 Ray Kurzweil
Arch‑transhumanist and AI enthusiast Ray Kurzweil once predicted human immortality by 2029 (a claim he made in 2016). He believes that achieving eternal life hinges on wealth as much as diet. His breakfast routine blends dark espresso‑infused chocolate, vanilla soy milk, smoked fish, porridge, berries, and green tea, all bolstered by “thousands of dollars worth of diet pills”—roughly $1 million annually. In 2016, he was on 100 supplements daily, down from a previous 250.
Curiously, Kurzweil consumes sugar: 7 grams each in soy milk and chocolate, plus the fructose in berries. He also uses stevia, whose safety remains debated. His sugar indulgence likely ties to his faith in a cyborg future; he’s linked with Dmitry Itskov’s 2045 Initiative. At 75, Kurzweil’s goal is to outlive long enough to reap the benefits of upcoming innovations.
By 2015, at 67 Earth years, he claimed his “biological age” resembled someone in their late 40s.
6 Dmitry Itskov
Russian media mogul Dmitry Itskov isn’t banking on biological immortality. His 2045 Initiative, backed by Ray Kurzweil, aims to transfer human consciousness into inorganic avatars. In 2013, he told the Huffington Post he was “100 percent certain” that humanity would achieve immortality by 2045, citing an “ancient text” that claimed, “whatever we intend to achieve, we will achieve.” With only 22 years left, he still lacks a concrete plan.
It’skov envisions cyber‑punk “body service shops” where post‑human customers can select bodies from a catalog—options tailored for Martian life or even flight. He deems food, sex, and children trivial, arguing that 80 years suffices for such pleasures. Instead, he urges living for a greater purpose, like soaring around Mars or meditating atop mountains.
His preparation involves hours of yoga, breathing exercises, and meditation daily. He avoids meat—not for health, but because the energy it provides feels uncomfortable. He also shuns alcohol, claiming it dulls his sense of “real nature,” and even ice‑cold water, which he believes saps energy.
5 Jack Dorsey
Twitter co‑founder Jack Dorsey’s longevity playbook centers on intermittent fasting. He eats one meal a day and abstains entirely on weekends, believing this stretches his days and boosts productivity. Critics accuse him of normalizing disordered eating, suggesting his regimen could encourage binge‑eating on junk foods when fasting periods end. When he does eat, his meals are simple: fish, chicken, or steak with vegetables. Improper fasting, however, can cause dehydration.
Dorsey also experiments with the paleo diet, meditation, and standing‑desk work illuminated by infrared light. He’s been dubbed “the Gwyneth Paltrow of Silicon Valley” by the New York Times. He swears by Himalayan pink salt, sipping a “salt juice” each morning—a blend of water, lemon, and pink salt. He even offered this concoction to his Twitter staff. While energized, there’s no need for most people to supplement sodium beyond normal dietary intake.
4 Marios Kyriazis
Marios Kyriazis, medical director of the British Longevity Society and private physician for de‑aging patients, proposes a suite of off‑beat practices. He encourages reading the newspaper upside‑down and in a mirror, writing with his non‑dominant hand, listening to music he dislikes, and arguing the opposite of his true opinions.
Even more counter‑intuitive, Kyriazis argues that stress can be beneficial. While chronic stress harms cells, brief bursts of frantic activity—like last‑minute airport packing—trigger the release of cell‑repair proteins, a process known as hormesis. This short‑term stress can leave cells stronger, potentially lowering risks of Alzheimer’s, arthritis, and heart disease. He clarifies that not all stress is good; prolonged stress remains detrimental. He suggests mild challenges such as a quick dinner‑party prep, weekend redecorating, or learning a new video‑recorder function as ways to reap hormetic benefits.
Kyriazis admitted to The Times in 2005 that he uses his patients as guinea pigs and that his recommendations lack clinical trial backing. He also advocates sleep deprivation, a controversial stance.
3 James Strole
Motivated by his grandmother’s death, James Strole began preaching against mortality at age 11. In his twenties, he toured the U.S. spreading his anti‑death message. Later, he co‑founded the Eternal Flame Foundation (CBJ—standing for Charles, Bernie, and James). The cult boasted a presence in 26 countries and a mailing list of 30,000, extracting nearly $500,000 in salaries per founder and over $1.12 million from events, fundraising, and sales. Ironically, the movement collapsed as prominent members began dying.
Strole still believes he has a chance. He eschews bread and dairy, shocks his 74‑year‑old immune system with cold‑water pool dips, and consumes up to 70 supplements daily, including one aimed at “energizing the mitochondria.” He also lies on an “electromagnetic mat” he claims “opens up the veins.”
He doesn’t expect any single practice to grant immortality directly. Instead, he hopes to live long enough to ride the wave of each new breakthrough—extending his life by another twenty years each time, theoretically stretching his existence across centuries.
2 Michael Nguyen
Former tailor to the elite, Michael Nguyen recently launched Longevity House—a curated environment and private members’ club for Toronto’s bio‑hacking community. Membership costs $100,000 for lifetime access to cutting‑edge tech, despite Nguyen’s professed commitment to “ancestral grounding in nature.” The club houses an AI‑powered exercise bike, electronic muscle‑stimulation bodysuit, vibration plate, red‑light therapy room, and the BioCharger—a controversial device Nguyen admits is essentially a placebo.
Nguyen isn’t just in it for profit; he genuinely believes in his regimen. He eats one meal daily, supplements with metformin and rapamycin (falsely claiming it reverses aging), and uses the BioCharger every day. Though in his 40s, he asserts his biological age is about 28.
Despite lacking medical credentials, Nguyen brushes off criticism, claiming resistance is inevitable for anyone “leading the charge.” He also promotes fecal transplants—literally moving gut bacteria from one person to another—as part of his anti‑aging arsenal.
1 Bryan Johnson
Former Mormon missionary Bryan Johnson, 45, is on a mission to reset his body to an 18‑year‑old state. He monitors nocturnal erections and even tweaks his rectum to “perform like a teenager’s.” In a controversial move, he draws a fifth of his 17‑year‑old son’s blood—dubbed his “blood boy”—inspired by the “human caterpillar” experiments that linked old and young mice circulatory systems.
Johnson’s anti‑aging protocol costs over $2 million a year and includes eating dinner at 11 a.m., taking 100 supplements daily, and limiting calories to 1,977 (the year of his birth). He claims his regimen proves that self‑harm and decay are not inevitable, even as he acknowledges the irony of his approach.
By 2021, he reported having turned back the clock five years—still far from the effortless longevity of Ray Kurzweil, whose more relaxed, albeit ethically questionable, methods contrast sharply with Johnson’s extreme regimen.