Last week, a friend of mine showed me a €300 red light panel she’d bought for her bathroom. “It’s supposed to boost collagen production,” she explained, holding it up like a designer handbag. I asked her how she knew it worked. She paused. “The app tracks my skin metrics?”
This moment perfectly captures what’s happening right now in the wellness aisle of our favourite shops. Biohacking—the idea of using science-backed tools and techniques to optimise your body—has moved from the fringe into mainstream retail. And it’s not just about fitness trackers anymore. We’re talking metabolic beauty products, genetic testing kits, and gadgets that promise to measure everything from your skin’s elasticity to your cellular age.
But here’s what I’ve been thinking about as a designer: just because we can measure something doesn’t mean we should obsess over it. And just because something has a sensor attached doesn’t automatically make it better for us.
The Appeal of Quantifying Our Bodies
I get why biohacking appeals to people. There’s something genuinely comforting about data. Instead of relying on a vague feeling like “my skin seems nice,” you get a number. A graph. Proof. In a world where we’re bombarded with conflicting health advice, the promise of personalised, science-backed solutions feels like a life raft.
The beauty and wellness industry is leaning hard into this. Products now come with claims backed by lab research—not just “moisturiser that feels good” but “clinically proven to increase skin hydration by 23% in four weeks.” Supplements are marketed not just as healthy but as longevity hacks. Skincare becomes metabolic optimisation.
From a design perspective, this language is clever. It transforms self-care from something nice-to-have into something necessary. It reframes beauty routines as serious, science-backed biohacking. And it taps into something deeper: our desire to feel in control of our ageing, our health, our bodies.
But I think we need to pump the brakes a bit. Not on the science itself—that’s genuinely fascinating. On the psychology of it all.
When Data Becomes Obsession
Here’s what worries me. When you turn your body into a system to be optimised, you can easily slip into obsessive tracking. Check your skin metrics daily. Adjust your routine based on tiny fluctuations. Spend more money chasing that next percentage point of improvement.
It reminds me of problematic fitness tracker design from a decade ago. We saw people become so focused on hitting 10,000 steps that they forgot about actually moving in ways that felt good. The number became the goal, not the health.
I’ve been designing digital products long enough to know that we’re incredibly susceptible to the feedback loops we create. Put a metric in front of someone with a nice interface, and suddenly it becomes the thing they care about most. Not whether they actually feel better. Whether the number went up.
The biohacking trend in retail does something similar. It gives you endless metrics to track:
- Skin elasticity scores
- Collagen density measurements
- Cellular age readings
- Metabolic rate optimisations
- Sleep quality ratings
Each one comes with a product to improve it. Each improvement requires more products. It’s a system designed to keep you buying, tracking, and worrying.
Designing for Actual Human Wellbeing
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not anti-science or anti-technology in beauty and wellness. Good design and smart innovation can genuinely help people feel better. The issue is intention.
If a biohacking product exists to help someone solve a real problem—say, someone with eczema using science-backed skincare, or an athlete optimising recovery with data—that’s meaningful. But if it exists primarily to create another metric to chase? That’s just capitalism wearing a lab coat.
As both a designer and a user, I’d love to see this market shift. Instead of pushing more gadgets and metrics, what if we designed for simplicity? What if we helped people identify the few interventions that actually work for their specific body and situation, rather than pushing them toward endless optimisation?
What if “successful biohacking” meant doing fewer things, more consistently, with less anxiety?
The technology is here. The science is real. But the way we package it and sell it matters. It shapes how people relate to their bodies, their health, and their worth. And that’s where good design comes in—not just making beautiful apps and sleek devices, but making systems that actually make people’s lives better without making them crazy.
My friend is still using her red light panel. I asked her last week if she’d seen a difference. “Honestly?” she said. “I can’t tell. But I like the ritual of it.” And that’s the real answer, isn’t it? The ritual, the care, the attention. Not the metrics. Those things matter because they’re genuinely part of feeling better—not because the app says so.
Source: Biohacking goes big: The new longevity gold rush in retail
Laura Bennett
Tom Harrington