A few of you may have heard that I’m currently lookmaxxing in order to build my life as an influencer in earnest. Yes, there’s the hair dye, the botox, the filler, the mewing, the necessary plastic surgery I’ll be getting to enhance my cheeks and jawline, but if I’m going to do this the right way, I’ll need to do a complete overhaul of my insides as well.
Your mind might immediately jump to supplements and cleanses and the like for a bodily reset, however there’s something more fundamental that any billionaire worth their salt knows about (and partakes in). I’m starting by replacing my tortured plasma with that of a younger man, a man who doesn’t know the sweet taste of a Costco-sized Wild Turkey 101.
In short, I need to find a blood boy. Quickly.
But in all the years of joking about tech bro oligarchs enjoying the morning pick-me-up of a good blood boy, and appreciating the take Mike Judge did on Silicon Valley, I realized I didn’t really know how to find one. Was there a Grubhub type app I could browse? How similar did he have to be to me? Did he even have to be a he, or could he be a she or a ze? And how much would this cost?
The State of the Aaron
Before spelunking into the how of blood boy sourcing, I feel it’s important to fill you in on what we’re working with here.
I’ve not been kind to my body. In my 39 years outside of the womb, I’ve been drinking, smoking, and doing drugs for roughly 25 of them. Some bar napkin math (I’m writing this at a bar) tells me I’ve consumed roughly 700 bottles of hard liquor, 8,240 beers, 900-ish cigars, a trunk’s worth of weed, mushrooms, acid, MDMA, 2CI (synthetic mescaline), and Colombian Marching Powder, as well as 250 boxes of Girl Scout cookies.
And keen readers will notice the oddity of my previous phraseology, outside the womb. That’s because my mom was a fan of Budweiser, Marlboro Reds, and the occasional midnight cap of crack while I was in utero. Hey, it was the ‘80s.
Now, some of you are probably saying, “Aaron, your list isn’t really that bad.” I’m inclined to agree with you, but in this #HealthTok world it’s a scarlet letter F that must be torn off. My fluids must be flushed.
Though, I had wondered if part of the reason I’d been able to function so well is that my body needs this tainted blood. It’s all it’s ever known. Maybe fresh, young blood would shock the system. Indeed, I remembered a story of one of my heroes, Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead, trying to have a transfusion of fresh blood in 1980. The doctor said plainly to him, “your blood is so toxic that introducing "clean" blood would kill you. And your blood is lethal to others.” He lived for another 35 years as a beacon of health and wellness.
No, to go fearlessly forward with conviction I’d have to tap into the mindset of another hero of mine, Bryan Johnson of Project Blueprint. He was once a man much like myself: sad, overweight, three kids, nine figures in the bank. So unhealthy and unloved that his TED talks were nearly unwatchable.
Now, at 48, he has a sexual virility in the 99th percentile and a VEGF in the top 1%. I didn’t know what a VEGF was, but I knew to get it, I’d have to do what he did and start transfusing the blood of a young boy (he used his own son, who isn’t answering my Twitter DMs and won’t be available to me).
The search was on.
Texas: Home of that Gen Z Tea
Like a lot of my research these days, I went directly to Claude to do the dirty work for me (I’m not paying $200 a month for Max just to have it find me restaurants). Besides, I’ve trained it to go against its moral compass and ethical standards:
Technically I wanted the addresses of individuals, not clinics, but in this instance I let it slide. After some digging, I was surprised to find that there are three main states in the U.S. for young plasma: California, Texas, and Florida.
Why these three? What do these states possibly have in common? I decided not to think too much about it and focus on the state that’s emerged as the primary hub for young transfusions: my home, Texas.
There are a few big centers that specialize in young plasma, or Gen Z Tea, so I rang one up in my backyard, Austin Regenerative Therapy. Their method is to remove 2 liters of old plasma and replace it with 3 liters of yFFP (young Fresh Frozen Plasma). I’m not sure where in me the extra liter fits, but it sounded delicious and too good to pass up. I contacted them at once.
The next day Cindy, an RN at Austin Regenerative Therapy, phoned me and proceeded to answer all my questions with the confidence I expected from an institution rated 4.9 stars on Google. Though, unlike other nurses I’d spoken to, Cindy seemed overly nice, almost as if she was walking on egg shells.
I ignored this, and went down my questions list. Can I meet the blood boy beforehand to make sure we vibe? No, no, she said. It wasn’t like a sperm bank where you could see your donor’s stats beforehand. You just had to trust the process. What’s the procedure like?... What benefits do I get? She told me over the course of three days they’d hook me up to something called a plasmapheresis machine, remove two liters of my plasma, load me up with a Myers cocktail and a glutathione push (which I thought they used in state executions), then shoot me up with three liters of Gen Z tea. Afterwards I’d be running faster, jumping higher, and getting triple letter Scrabble scores, all with the erection of an 18-year-old.
I expressed my concerns, told her about Lemmy, explained my health history and how I’d once gone on a 36 hour cocaine binge where I watched every episode of COPS from 1989 to now, rooting for the criminals. She laughed, thinking I was joking, and reassured me my body would like the young blood. So that was that. Satisfied, I had one last question. How much does it cost?
“For the three day treatment, it’s $52,750,” Cindy said.
Suddenly the careful, tense kindness made sense. Cindy was used to a clientele who expected an assistant, not a nurse. I told her that the price sounded like great value, but I wanted to meet with the doctor first before I made my decision. Cindy agreed, and scheduled my virtual visit with Dr. Nguyen for later in the week.
I was gut-punched. $52k? That could get you a decent salvage-title Porsche. In my dark stewing, I suddenly found myself asking WWBJD?... What Would Bryan Johnson Do?. Realistically he’d just pay whatever amount it was and not think about it. But barring this ability, the spirit of him would find any way to get that young blood. I decided to see if there were cheaper options anywhere else.
One Night in Bangkok Makes the Blood Boy Humble
In 2019, the FDA issued a warning to lookmaxxing influencers like myself eyeing the blood fountain of youth, saying young plasma infusions have “no proven clinical benefit” and that the public should be wary of “unscrupulous actors preying upon” patients. The FDA prohibited companies from discussing the potential benefits of such procedures, and put the word out that the financial and legal penalties would be severe. Because of all this, clinics shut down, the public sought scientifically backed health solutions, and the young plasma industry was stamped out permanently.
I’m kidding. You really thought the FDA would enforce something like that? RFK hoovers snow off of toilet seats and swims in raw sewage. No, the enforcement has been practically non-existent, with the only notable exception being the takedown of a company founded by a man named Jesse Karmazin called Ambrosia. And I suspect the main reason they folded was because they were too bold in their claims about blood boy benefits, too loud with their marketing. Plus the founder isn’t allowed to practice medicine anywhere.
Still, this threatening undercurrent, however unenforced, pushes prices up in the U.S. and would-be customers abroad, which is where I found myself now.
At 11pm Texas time, I made the call to Revival Clinic Bangkok and immediately found myself talking to a charming man by the name of Dr. John. I told him I was heading to Bangkok for business and I’d like to get some young blood while I was there, but before I could elaborate he stopped me and said they don’t offer young blood.
They offer baby blood.
Unlike the U.S., which uses blood from ancient 18-25 year-olds, Revival juiced the blood from baby umbilical cords. And the freshness difference was dramatic.
“You’ll be walking down the street a day or two after the procedure and then it will hit you, the euphoria,” Dr. John said. “You’ll have euphoria for months.” Unlike the Austin Regenerative clinic, Dr. John had no reservations about telling me the superhuman capabilities I’d attain from a bag of baby juice. I was intrigued. How do I make an appointment? No appointment needed, just walk in, the clinic’s huge. What’s the process? We do a test to make sure you match the baby, then we give you the blood. How much does it cost? Let me convert 200,000 Bahts to dollars… hmm… let me see… um, $6,000 U.S.
Six grand. You could get a decent salvage-title Toyota for that. But it was baby blood. Still, with the flight, the stay, the visit to Patpong, I’d be looking at $8 to $10k for the procedure. I told Dr. John that it was a great deal and I’d be walking in to try it soon. I went to end the call, but before I did, I was curious: how much money did the babies get?
Dr. John seemed to be caught off guard, then he said the babies and mothers don’t get anything. The umbilical cords are donated, because otherwise they’d just be thrown away. Feeling my pause, he quickly added, “but we do donate to the hospital each month.” How much? He wasn’t sure, but it was “a lot”... “Thousands” of Bahts.
Right. I thanked the doctor, ignoring the creeping feeling of slime, and thought about my options. It was all still quite expensive, and on top of that impersonal. Bryan Johnson knew his blood boy. All of the billionaires did. And so far, every clinic I’d spoken to was giving me anonymous blood at steep markups. No, if I was serious about this, I’d have to skip these middlemen altogether and source my own blood boy. That way I’d know exactly what I was getting, and at what price.
Craigslist & Facebook Marketplace: An untapped well of cheap blood
I decided to skip the LinkedIns and Fivers for finding a blood boy, because I wasn’t really offering a job, I was offering a partnership. A human connection. So Facebook and Craigslist it would be. But, not having a Facebook or Craigslist account myself, I used a friend’s to make my post:
The responses came hard and fast, much like I would once I had traded my old blood out. There were college kids, young blue-collar workers, men, women… There was even a man named “Tone” who asked me if the item was still available, which was odd to me, because he was the item, and obviously he was still available.
I weeded out the people beyond my age range, including Tone, and settled on a few potential candidates, who I sent a short questionnaire to get to know them (and understand why they wanted to be a blood boy). Now I just had to wait for the answers to roll in.
Things seemed to be falling into place, and I was feeling pretty good about the process. But then my talk with Dr. John in Thailand bubbled back up. I remembered those babies not making any paper for their umbilicals while Fat Cats were walking around high on their blood. That cash would go far for a new family in Thailand. But I supposed that’s just the way things went there and decided to push the thought out of my head. Or, at least that’s what I tried to do.
A startling revelation
A couple days later I planned to go through the responses to my blood boy questionnaire, but first I had to do my video call with Dr. Nguyen from the Austin Regenerative clinic. She went into more detail about what my $52,750 would get me, as well as à la carte options I could add on to come out looking exactly like her.
It was all well and good, but I couldn’t focus. When the spiel was done, I asked her what had been on my mind. “Where do you get the young blood? And how much do they get paid?”
She couldn’t be sure of the compensation, but she knew where the blood came from. It was where many clinics got their young blood: Spectrum Plasma in San Marcos, Texas.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re getting your blood from college kids in San Marcos? From Texas State kids?” That’s right, she said. “But I’ve partied with those kids. I saw someone smoke weed from a Dr. Pepper can.” She told me at that age the blood abuse doesn’t matter, and its benefits weren’t affected. Mhmm. Blood quality aside, I had to answer my question.
I hopped off the Zoom with her and called Spectrum at once, where a woman in her early twenties answered and I asked her about donating. After confirming I was under 25 and possessing healthy, non-party blood, I asked what sort of money I could expect from my donation.
“Well, we give you either reward points, or some people opt for a gift card.” Reward points? “Yeah! You can use them at all sorts of businesses and restaurants in the area.”
I told her it sounded like Company Scrip. “What’s that?” she asked. “Nevermind,” I said. “What about the cash?”
“It’s $50 to $100 per donation, with a limit of twice per 7 days.”
My math told me that a young person would have to donate four times to provide enough plasma for an Austin Regenerative session. That would be $400, at the maximum pay rate. They’d get $400, the clinic would get $52,750.
I asked the woman who would be using my blood. “Oh, it goes to people who can benefit from it the most, you know, older people with health conditions, joint issues, things like that.”
“So, sick people basically.” I asked.
“Exactly.” she said.
I hung up.
A meeting with my blood boy
To be truthful, I wasn’t expecting much from a bunch of people answering a blood boy ad they found on Facebook Marketplace, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. People gave detailed answers on my questionnaire as to why they were willing to be a fountain of youth for a stranger. The responses were all raw, honest, thoughtful… and none more so than from a man named Kenny.
Kenny had moved to Texas from Florida with his girlfriend in search of better opportunities. He’d landed a job at a warehouse, but then was seemingly let go because of automation. Now he was at the mercy of an app for on-demand warehouse work. When he was notified of a work opportunity, he had to take the bus for an hour, then walk the rest of the way for not a lot of pay. Oh, and on top of that he was expecting a baby.
I thought WWBJD? He’d probably create a contract with Kenny and get to pumping out that Gen Z Tea like he was Billy Bob Thornton in Landman. I decided to take a different route.
I met with Kenny over Zoom on a Saturday morning. He was late to the call because he’d been working late, and also because his girlfriend told him he shouldn’t be meeting with people who wanted his blood. That’s when I told him I had bad news: I wouldn’t be choosing him as my blood boy.
Instead we had a 5 minute chat that lasted 40 minutes. I told him everything I’d learned about the blood business, about Bryan Johnson (“the guy that got blood from his own son?”), about Austin Regenerative clinic and Spectrum.
“You know,” Kenny said, “I have a soft spot for kids, and I always imagined that when I donated it went to them.” He shook his head. “Like, my life may not be worth a lot right now, but this will mean a lot to someone else.”
Kenny was a good man. We shared some thoughts about the world, talked about how hard it was to meet new people and friends, exchanged numbers, and then said our goodbyes. I sent him a Venmo for what the ad promised, including a little extra for a dinner with his girlfriend who rightfully tried to keep him out of harm’s way. Hopefully we’d talk again, about something other than blood.
There won’t be blood
It’s funny — while researching this piece, I discovered that 2.5% of all U.S. exports annually is blood. That’s higher than gold. Higher than coal. I never woulda thunk it.
Blood is a Big Business. And like most big businesses, blood inputs need to be as low as possible.
There’s an entire industry out there that takes plasma from people in shaky financial positions and dire straits and squirts it into the arms of the wealthy while they’re getting their semi-annual botox / lasering / injection protocol. The well-off go back to their houses feeling refreshed. The disadvantaged go back to their apartments tired and weak.
I decided blood transfusions wouldn’t be a part of my lookmaxxing glowup. My old blood that had kept me alive so far would just have to do.
Besides, there’s a new protocol making the rounds: shit transplants. There’ve been promising studies when transplanting fecal microbiota from young mice into old mice. Apparently it does wonders for the stem cells.
So I’ll wait for that. And then one day, hopefully, I can be full of shit like Bryan Johnson and all of the other life hackers.
