The wellness industry loves a secret cure. I encountered dozens of them at Dave Asprey’s Beyond Biohacking Conference, held in May on several floors of a hotel in downtown Austin. There were supplements galore, of course: algae tablets for detoxification, ketones for concentration, nitric oxide for circulation. One company claimed that its capsules contained quantum energy. I saw people hooked to IV vitamin drips, sweating inside infrared saunas, and sealed in hyperbaric oxygen chambers. I watched a woman climb into a giant quartz bowl, which someone then struck with a mallet. I tried a pair of inflatable compression pants that rhythmically squeezed my legs to stimulate lymphatic drainage. I also stripped to my boxers and spent a thrillingly miserable two and a half minutes inside a cryotherapy booth.
The main attraction, though, was peptides, the short chains of amino acids now hyped as miracle drugs. In a ballroom packed with several hundred people, Asprey and a fellow health guru, Jay Campbell, extolled the many virtues of peptides, railed against restrictions on their promotion, and predicted a future in which they transform mainstream medicine. Both men are in their 50s, with shredded physiques and zero medical degrees. Asprey is best known for popularizing the trend of dumping butter and coconut oil into your coffee. Campbell made his name advocating for testosterone replacement and now bills himself as one of the world’s leading authorities on peptides. He spoke excitedly about one cutting-edge compound, called Klotho, that can “literally lower your biological age.” He told the crowd that he’s heard from women in their 70s who, after taking Klotho and the peptide FLGR242, started menstruating again. (Instead of imploring them to call their doctor, which is what the American Cancer Society recommends for postmenopausal bleeding, his advice was to “keep injecting.”) As peptides become more readily available over the next few years, Campbell anticipates that disease as we know it will come to an end, including “ontological” mutations. (I’m guessing these are mutations that afflict only philosophers.)
Campbell and Asprey have been promoting underground peptides in their books and on their podcasts for years. Lately, though, these gray-market drugs have started to gain traction with a broader audience. The most talked-about among them goes by the cryptic designation BPC‑157. It’s commonplace enough that asking questions about it immediately tags you as a tourist. BPC‑157 is a component in most of the popular peptide combos, ones with names such as Glow, Klow, and Wolverine (a reference to the comic-book superhero with self-healing powers, not the carcass-eating skunk-bear). It’s rumored to be good for stomach ailments including acid reflux, bloating, and ulcers. Also, sprained ankles. It will reportedly ameliorate arthritis, carpal tunnel syndrome, and sciatica, not to mention hernias and migraines. BPC‑157 has been said to loosen stiff shoulders and repair runner’s knee. Suffering from bursitis? Gingivitis? Road rash? Low libido? Its boosters promise that it can help with all of these conditions and more.
In recent months, BPC‑157’s profile has risen significantly, at least judging by Google searches and Instagram videos, some of which feature a creepy AI-generated character who magically restores torn ligaments. Praise from big-name podcasters such as Andrew Huberman and Joe Rogan has no doubt contributed to its popularity (Rogan declared BPC‑157 “super legit”).
Read the full story: Is There Anything BPC-157 Can’t Cure? (Atlantic)