Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. claims yet another scam that he says robbed taxpayers of billions from Medicare.

Kennedy made the comments during the "Make America Healthy Again" conference Tuesday while speaking with Vice President JD Vance.

'We were on par, on track to spend $23 billion this year. ... And we stopped it. We put an end to it, and we've now driven that down.'

"We have perverse incentives in the department, and we gave the people opportunity to steal, and we made it almost irresistible," said Kennedy.

He went on to give "skin substitutes" as an example, defining skin substitutes as "simulated skin that you put on certain wounds after dressing them carefully."

"These skin substitutes ... the doctors who prescribed them would get 6% of the sales cost. And so they were incentivized to prescribe more expensive products," he explained.

"So 2019, we were paying $200 million. Last year, we spent $14 billion. All stolen. It's all stolen," he claimed.

"And we were on par, on track to spend $23 billion this year. ... And we stopped it," Kennedy said.

"We put an end to it, and we've now driven that down," he added. "That cost down to somewhere around $1 billion. And we saved that money, but it was allowed to get out of control. And you're seeing — I mean, we can tell our stories. You and I can sit here all day long and just tell insane stories about the level of theft."

Also during the fireside discussion in the summit at the Waldorf in Washington, D.C., Kennedy touted the benefits of artificial intelligence in the medical field.

"If somebody tells you, ‘Masks work, trust the experts,’ AI may tell you otherwise. If somebody tells you, ‘Social distancing works, trust the experts,’ AI may correct that," Kennedy said.

"And if somebody tells you that a vaccine will prevent transmission and infection — ‘Oh, you need to take it to protect your grandmother’ — AI may say it actually doesn’t do that," he added. "So it really has the capacity to ... free us from medical tyranny."

Like Blaze News? Bypass the censors, sign up for our newsletters, and get stories like this direct to your inbox. Sign up here!

Apparently, we need experts to teach us how to walk now

Every day, tens of millions of Americans walk. Some walk to the kitchen, others walk to the bathroom, and plenty make the familiar trip back to the kitchen after forgetting what they went there for in the first place. The more adventurous, in search of a little exercise, head outside for a stroll around the block.

I enjoy a good walk myself. But after reading about the latest method, I have to ask a critical question: Have we all been walking wrong this entire time?

By next spring, expect the arrival of Scandinavian Sitting Down, a Nordic method that involves placing your buttocks on a chair when your legs feel tired.

You see, researchers in Japan have found that deliberately alternating between slower and faster walking can improve aerobic fitness, leg strength, and blood pressure more effectively than simply walking at a steady moderate pace. Hence the latest viral craze sweeping the West. Japanese walking involves three minutes of relaxed walking, followed by three minutes of faster, more vigorous walking. You repeat the process for about 30 minutes.

It’s formally known as Interval Walking Training, which makes it sound infinitely more impressive than “walk normally, then go a bit faster.”

The saber-tooth protocol

Humanity has survived famines. It has endured plagues and savage wars without a digital timer strapped to its wrist, telling it when to put one foot in front of the other. Yet today, millions of supposedly sane adults in America and beyond subscribe to services that tell them to speed up for 180 seconds. Our ancestors accelerated when a saber-toothed tiger chased them and slowed when the tiger disappeared. They called it staying alive.

The absurdity extends far beyond walking. The entire self-improvement industry rests on taking an ordinary human function, giving it a very fancy name, and selling it as a revolutionary lifestyle breakthrough.

When you eat smaller portions, you're not practicing moderation. No, you’re engaging in the fine art of portion control. If you skip breakfast because you slept through your alarm, you’re practicing intermittent fasting. Should you fall asleep on the couch on a Sunday afternoon, you’re not taking a nap. Instead, you’re practicing a form of Non-Sleep Deep Rest.

The obsession with rebranding even the most basic things stems from deep-seated collective insecurity. Modern culture distrusts anything that lacks an instruction manual or a monthly billing cycle.

Linguistic inflation

When you step outside your front door to observe an oak tree, you’re forest bathing. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator is known as incidental exercise. Drinking a glass or two of water when you feel thirsty has evolved into a hydration protocol, complete with a gallon jug marked with motivational quotes to ensure optimal cellular fluid retention.

Going to bed at 10 p.m. on a weeknight used to be called common sense. Now it’s called sleep hygiene. And naturally, getting a good night’s sleep requires blue-light-blocking glasses, a weighted blanket, and enough magnesium to stock a small pharmacy.

Sitting near a window at 7 in the morning is circadian activation. Taking a 10-minute break from your computer screen is deliberate recovery.

In the 1920s, if a laborer needed a breather, he sat down on a crate and smoked a pipe. A century later, an office manager hires a certified consultant to teach him breath work, which involves inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth.

The linguistic inflation is out of control. Sitting on a chair without looking at your phone for a few minutes is mindfulness. Writing about your annoying boss and even more annoying neighbor in a notebook is journaling. Drinking a mug of black coffee before going for a jog is pre-workout supplementation.

Vacuuming the living room and carrying heavy laundry baskets down to the basement is functional fitness. Throwing a ball around with your son in the back yard is active family bonding. Jumping into cold water is aquatic cardiovascular conditioning. Staring at nothing in particular for 10 minutes is dopamine detoxing.

Getty Images

Wellness wordsmiths

Influencers have built multimillion-dollar digital empires by doing little more than glancing at the dictionary, grabbing an everyday word, and replacing it with something that sounds like a medical diagnosis.

The goal is to make you feel fundamentally incompetent at simply existing. If breathing, sleeping, walking, and drinking water require a life coach and a six-week online seminar, you’re permanently broken without their intervention.

Things are bad now, and they’ll likely get worse. By next spring, expect the arrival of Scandinavian Sitting Down, a Nordic method that involves placing your buttocks on a chair when your legs feel tired. By autumn, wellness retreats will charge exorbitant fees to teach corporate clients the ancient art of Korean Going to Bed. This esoteric eastern practice involves shutting your eyes in a dark room until you fall asleep.

The solution to this nonsense is pretty simple. And more importantly, it’s entirely free. Put away the stopwatch. Delete the tracking apps; ignore the snake-oil salesmen online. Go outside. Put one foot in front of the other, and walk at whatever speed feels comfortable until you decide to stop.

Go ahead and take a seat. It’s not going to kill you.

I quite like to sit down. Sometimes you will find me folded into an armchair with a bowl of cereal, reading about Mongol savages, convinced this is the absolute pinnacle of human civilization.

The medical establishment considers this exact activity a suicidal ritual akin to swallowing rat poison. Somewhere around 2010, academic researchers decided that resting your gluteal muscles against a soft cushion carries the same lethality as huffing two packs of unfiltered Lucky Strikes before breakfast.

The true goal of the anti-sitting crusade, I suggest, is to eliminate guilt-free leisure.

Chair scare

The "sitting is the new smoking" campaign remains one of the most absurd public health exaggerations of the modern era. Tobacco smoke deposits thousands of chemical compounds directly into pulmonary tissue. It paralyzes cilia and mutates cellular structures until tumors bloom like bad weeds.

Chair usage, by contrast, involves resting your skeleton on furniture so your knee joints don’t turn into sawdust. Equating a plush sofa to a habit that systematically destroys internal organs requires a complete detachment from objective reality.

Wellness brand PR teams latched onto this ridiculous metaphor with ruthless efficiency. Fear sells foam rollers. It sells treadmill desks and squatty potties. The human brain panics when it thinks a routine daily comfort threatens to shut it down completely. And panic prevents us from seeing things clearly.

In 1953, British epidemiologist Jerry Morris published a famous study comparing London bus drivers to bus conductors, noting drivers suffered more heart attacks. The medical industry extracted a single hysterical conclusion from that data, completely overlooking the fact that drivers dealt with heavy traffic and nasty fumes all day long. Yes, conductors moved more, but they also faced far fewer physical and psychological stressors.

Same old sit

This modern panic relies entirely on the illusion that our ancestors lived lives of continuous, unrelenting activity. My grandfather spent decades farming in Ireland, a vocation urban health gurus idealize as the gold standard of natural human movement. But after a long morning of plowing fields, he also sat in his rocking chair and didn’t move a muscle for hours on end. Medieval peasants sat on dirt floors for hours mending nets, weaving wool, and waiting out brutal European winters. The historical record is clear: Humans have always taken advantage of the opportunity to park their posteriors on the nearest stable surface.

In 1880, industrial factory workers put in 14-hour shifts standing on wooden planks. They suffered massive joint degradation and chronic physical exhaustion. Only the most deluded back then claimed standing was a magical fountain of youth. Rest was considered a hard-earned luxury that kept the body from breaking down prematurely. The modern obsession with perpetual motion recasts a basic act of recovery as a moral failing.

Panic peddlers act as if the human frame dissolves into liquid sludge the moment butt meets bench. They publish studies claiming that six hours of daily sedentary behavior will trigger a catastrophic metabolic meltdown while conveniently ignoring the bigger picture. A person who sits for a few hours at a time, eats actual vegetables, and lifts heavy objects three times a week possesses a very different cardiovascular profile than someone who inhales fried dough while playing video games for hours on end.

Alex Wroblewski/Getty Images

Rebranding rest

The proposed solutions to this imaginary crisis are far more punishing than the supposed ailment. Corporate wellness managers continue to install standing desks in offices, forcing countless poor souls to endure varicose veins and lower back pain. Standing perfectly still on a concrete floor for eight hours, day in and day out, doesn’t sound very appealing, and for good reason. It damages the lumbar spine and pools blood in the ankles.

Sellers of high-tech ergonomic gear profit handsomely from this artificially generated terror. They pitch thousand-dollar mesh office chairs guaranteed to align your vertebrae to micro-millimeter precision, as if a standard dining room chair is a torture device. Consultants charge massive hourly fees to adjust monitor heights by two inches, promising these micro-adjustments will save you from an early grave. It’s an elaborate commercial ecosystem built on top of a completely fabricated health crisis.

Fixing the physical stiffness of a long afternoon takes remarkably little effort. Walking to the kitchen to fetch water every 60 minutes gets your blood flowing and helps reset your circulation. Taking a 10-minute stroll around the block after dinner clears blood glucose far more effectively than standing like a statue in front of a screen for five straight hours. The body is remarkably resilient.

The true goal of the anti-sitting crusade, I suggest, is to eliminate guilt-free leisure. A society obsessed with relentless, measurable productivity views an unmoving human body as an economic failure.

Rest must be rebranded as a perilous path toward an early grave so people feel compelled to buy walking pads and smartwatches that alert local authorities whenever they come within 100 meters of a chair.

You are allowed to enjoy a book, finish a film, or eat a meal without calculating your immediate mortality risk. So please, sit down, stay still for an hour, or two, or three, and ignore the health prophets who profit from your panic.

Are antidepressants zombifying American culture?

Why are things the way they are?

Why does it feel like things were better before?

Having a society of people walking through life in a drab stupor will, believe it or not, have strange impacts on the way the world goes.

No, that’s not exactly right. Everything — emphasis on thing — wasn’t better before. Well, maybe it’s the people then. Yes, that’s it — the people. Why does it seem like people were better before? No, that’s not it either. Not quite. People weren’t better before. There have always been the wicked and the evil and the lazy and the annoying. The world has always had problems.

Well, what is it then? What is it that I am feeling, you are feeling, and we all are feeling? Why does everything feel “off” for lack of a better word?

There’s a lot of answers, and a lot of them are pretty good. Answering questions this big is like looking at an object at a table from different directions. There are multiple correct descriptions of what is sitting in front of everyone, and all the answers help paint a clearer picture.

Ostinato of apathy

But is there an answer, a detail, a fact, or an X factor that sits under all the other things and runs like an ostinato through seemingly unrelated domains connecting the dots in a strangely unifying way?

Perhaps.

And if I were to try to list a single X factor that weaves like a thread through all the various forms and domains of decline, descent, malaise, and dysfunction, I might conclude that the fact that connects all these problems is something insurance covers, doctors prescribe, and we are all supposed to nod along with.

SSRIs and other forms of antidepressant medication.

I saw a video recently of an extended family. In a self-satisfied, joke-y sort of way, they all listed the medications they were on. It wasn’t a real joke, it was clear they were all actually on these things, but the video was joking about how funny it is, or something. Like many things TikTok, the tone was a plain, mundane, nihilistic, uncapitalized “lol.”

Of course, TikTok isn’t real life. But it isn’t exactly fake life either. This family of drug-dependents might be a bit of an exaggeration, though not necessarily a fabrication. Spiritually, the video is correct. More people are on these drugs than ever before, and that’s an undeniable fact of reality.

Drugs not hugs

This kind of thing didn’t exist when I was young. Drugs existed, both legal and illegal ones. Prescription drugs to help you be less depressed existed too. There were jokes and themes about Prozac in the 1990s, and before my time, in the midcentury, they were juicing disturbed people up on all sorts of stuff too. But the prevalence of them, overuse of them, and unabashedly flippant taking of them was nowhere near what we see today.

When I was young, the only people who were on this stuff were people who were decidedly “messed up.” Those who had genuinely tried to commit suicide or were really on the brink. And it wasn’t a good thing, and it wasn’t used flippantly. It was serious stuff. Somewhere in the last few decades, this attitude changed.

SSRIs and other antidepressants are the X factor under so much of the general malaise and dysfunction in our perplexing and seemingly decaying culture. At first, it doesn’t really make sense, or it just seems like a bit of a stretch because people think these drugs just “make people happier,” but that’s not exactly what happens. Even if they do seemingly “make people happier,” or at least less depressed, that isn’t the only thing they do.

Ian Tyas/Getty Images

Dead inside

Listen to people who have been on these drugs describe how they make you feel. The picture isn’t exactly a rosy one. It’s better than suicide, but it isn’t normal. A very common observation you hear from people is that they make you feel dead or like you don’t care about anything. They also lower libido and what might be described as general drive.

These drugs don’t only impact one’s happiness. They bleed out and into all these other things, and when you have people taking them at the scale we do in the U.S., the culture shifts in ways that are unintelligible and confusing to those of us not on anything. Having a society of people walking through life in a drab stupor will, believe it or not, have strange impacts on the way the world goes.

Because of all this, our society is more full of de facto zombies than ever before. No wonder young people feel listless. No wonder achievement and striving for greatness seem naive or corny.

No wonder people aren’t partying.

No wonder the birthrate is in the tank.

No wonder the Democratic Party has become what it is when so many of its voters exhibit depression and anxiety.

No wonder everyone dresses like slobs.

No wonder there is a general apathy that bleeds through everything we see and hear.

No wonder the interior design is bland and factory-like.

No wonder everyone feels like tomorrow is going to be worse than today.

No wonder — to answer our first question — things are the way they are.

'My son's eyes were sold': The Ohio mother taking on America's organ-donation machine

The modern administrative state has perfected the art of turning basic human relationships into a never-ending nightmare. In modern America, even the simplest family matters can become exercises in paperwork and official permission. But what happened to an Ohio mother crosses into truly disturbing territory.

When Andrea Mauk’s 18-year-old son, Damon, died suddenly, he was not a registered organ donor. Andrea had raised him as his primary custodial parent. His biological father was long estranged, played little role in his upbringing, and, according to Andrea, didn't even appear in his hospital files.

Federal investigators concluded that at least 28 patients might not have been dead when the procurement process began.

Yet Andrea says that while she was briefly out of cellphone service, hospital and organ procurement organization staff turned to Damon's biological father. Roughly 30 minutes after attempting to reach her, she says, they obtained a single phone "yes" from him authorizing the recovery of Damon's eyes and tissue. Some of that tissue would ultimately make its way as far as Argentina.

Who decides?

For conservatives who still believe the family is the primary unit of society, the story raises disturbing questions about parental authority and consent. Under Ohio's version of the Uniform Anatomical Gift Act, both parents of an adult child occupy the same level of priority for authorizing donation.

If one parent gives permission, the gift can proceed unless that parent or the procurement organization knows the other parent objects. The law requires officials to consider which relatives are "reasonably available," but that determination depends partly on whether they can be contacted in time to act within existing medical constraints.

That leaves enormous weight resting on a deceptively simple question: How long is reasonable when a mother doesn't even know someone is seeking permission to recover parts of her child's body?

"In my son's entire medical record, his father was never listed. He was not an emergency contact, HIPAA release, and we have no idea how he was even contacted," Andrea explains.

Her parents showed up at the hospital after community members tipped them off, but nobody mentioned donation. Even when Andrea called the hospital directly, she says, staff kept her in the dark. As part of the process, Andrea says the OPO had Damon's father complete a detailed medical history questionnaire about a son he barely knew. If accurate, that raises an obvious question about how reliable such a medical history could possibly have been.

Organ trade

Follow the money, and the picture becomes far more disturbing. Americans are accustomed to seeing organ donation as an act of pure altruism. But the system also has a powerful commercial dimension.

When someone dies without registering as an organ donor, the UAGA allows certain family members to authorize donation on the person's behalf. At the same time, federal regulators measure OPOs partly by their donation and transplantation rates, creating an obvious institutional incentive to secure authorizations. OPO performance can ultimately determine whether an organization retains its certification and service area. Critics fear those incentives can turn a grieving family's decision into another performance metric — all within a system where some OPO executives collect compensation exceeding half a million dollars a year.

The loophole lies in the world of "anatomical gifts" — the industry's clinical term for donated skin, bone, ligaments, eyes, and other tissue. Federal law prohibits the outright sale of human tissue for transplantation, but permits organizations to charge for its recovery, processing, storage, transportation, and distribution. In other words, the tissue itself cannot legally carry a price tag, but nearly everything done to it after donation can. The result is a peculiar system in which the donor receives nothing, yet donated tissue can generate substantial revenue as it moves through nonprofit and commercial organizations.

"My son's eyes were sold to an international hospital in Argentina and his skin and ligaments to a biologics research company," Andrea notes. "This has become a multibillion-dollar industry."

Legally, the industry distinguishes between selling human tissue and charging for the services required to recover, process, and distribute it. For a grieving mother who never authorized the donation in the first place, that distinction may understandably seem rather academic.

L-R: BSIP/Universal Images Group/Getty Images; SAUL LOEB/AFP/Getty Images

'Questionable consent'

Nor are concerns about the procurement system confined to Andrea's case.

Last year, the Department of Health and Human Services examined 351 cases in which organ donation had been authorized but ultimately not completed. Federal investigators found concerning features in 103 of them, including what HHS described as "questionable consent practices." Seventy-three patients showed neurological signs inconsistent with organ donation, and federal investigators concluded that at least 28 patients might not have been dead when the procurement process began. HHS ordered corrective measures and broader changes intended to strengthen safeguards throughout the system.

The concerns have persisted. In March, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services issued new guidance explicitly requiring that families be given appropriate time to make informed donation decisions without coercion. CMS said the action followed reports of OPOs rushing parts of the process and pressuring grieving families.

Andrea's own search for answers eventually took her all the way to the Ohio Supreme Court. The public records litigation concerned records surrounding Damon's death and the handling of his personal property, including $1,500 in cash and an iPhone reportedly given to a man identifying himself as Damon's father — not the legality of his father's authorization of the donation. Andrea ultimately won a partial victory and $2,000 in statutory damages over improperly withheld or redacted records.

She says she also had to go through probate proceedings simply to obtain access to some of her son's files. Two years and thousands of dollars later, Andrea says she is still trying to reconstruct exactly what happened to her son and why.

The traumatized and understandably furious mother says she has repeatedly called and emailed Rep. Max Miller (R-Ohio), a member of the House Ways and Means Committee, but has received no substantive response in 18 months.

'Damon's Law'

But all is not lost. Andrea is now campaigning for a package of reforms she calls “Damon’s Law,” aimed at strengthening informed consent and family protections in the organ- and tissue-donation system. As I write, more than 16,000 citizens have signed a Change.org petition calling on Congress to enact those reforms. That pressure must grow until lawmakers have no option but to act.

Andrea's proposed reforms demand basic transparency and accountability across the board. She wants states to require DMVs to tell drivers more clearly what organ and tissue donation actually entails, rather than allowing a one-time registration to remain in force indefinitely without requiring the donor to reaffirm it.

That's not a hypothetical concern. Under Ohio law, once someone registers as a donor through a driver's license, identification card, or vehicle registration, the authorization remains effective until affirmatively withdrawn. The donor doesn't have to reaffirm the decision at renewal, and even expiration or cancellation of the license itself doesn't invalidate the gift.

And even withdrawing that gift may not mean what an ordinary person assumes it means. Ohio law expressly distinguishes between revoking an anatomical gift and refusing to make one. A donor's revocation "is not a refusal" and therefore does not necessarily prevent an authorized relative from approving a donation after death. By contrast, a formal, unrevoked refusal generally bars other people from making the gift.

The distinction may make sense to a lawyer; whether the average Ohioan understands it when checking — or unchecking — a box at the DMV is another question entirely.

Andrea also wants lawmakers to establish clearer rules for family authorization, so that an estranged biological parent cannot make such an irreversible decision without the parent who actually raised the deceased even being given a meaningful chance to object. Andrea Mauk wants a system she believes failed her family to be reformed.

Any decent, sane American should want families to know what they are consenting to — and to have a meaningful say before the decision becomes irreversible. Without serious legislative fixes, the system that failed Andrea and Damon will remain perfectly capable of doing the same thing to another family.

How plastic took over your closet — and what you can do about it

Filmmaker and mother Jessica Solce was frustrated by the difficulty of finding healthy, all-natural products for herself and her family. To make it easier, she created the Solarium, a curated marketplace for third-party-tested foods, clothing, beauty products, and more — free of seed oils, endocrine disruptors, carcinogens, and other potentially harmful additives.

In this occasional column, she shares recommendations and research from her continuing education in health and wellness.

Every time I return to my parents' home, I find myself standing in my mother's closet.

My parents are moving, and I'm helping. Just as when I was a kid, I still take pleasure in running my hands across the fabrics of my mother's clothes. Everything is silk, cotton, wool. Sturdy, perfectly kept, and just as soft and vibrant as they were 40 years ago.

Acrylic or polyester becomes 'faux fur'; polyurethane or PVC becomes 'vegan leather.' The language makes the substitution sound almost virtuous.

What isn't in her closet is just as striking. It isn't overflowing with heaps of disposable fashion bought for a season and forgotten. Everything seems chosen — the accumulation not of endless consumption but of decades of taste and considered decisions. She bought things she liked, cared for them, and kept them.

Fast and cheap

This kind of restraint is out of style. Modern closets can be filled cheaply and frequently, thanks to synthetic fibers. Polyester, nylon, and acrylic are inexpensive to produce, easy to care for, and endlessly adaptable — and we embraced them. What is stranger is how even luxury fashion followed. Materials once prized precisely for their natural beauty — silk, wool, linen, cashmere, leather, and fur — increasingly share racks and runways with petroleum-derived fabrics. We've gained an astonishing abundance of clothing while losing some of the tactile abundance that made clothing worth keeping in the first place.

The transformation began nearly a century ago. In 1935, DuPont chemist Wallace Carothers produced nylon, the first fully synthetic fiber to become a consumer product. Nylon is a plastic, made from petrochemical-derived polymers, but it could be spun into fibers that looked and behaved like textiles.

Nylon's first great consumer success was women's stockings, and the appeal was obvious. Silk stockings were expensive, delicate, and prone to runs. Nylon promised something stronger, cheaper, and easier to care for. Women loved them: When DuPont introduced nylon stockings nationwide in 1940, nearly 800,000 pairs sold on the first day.

The appeal wasn't hard to understand. Silk was expensive and delicate. Nylon was strong, inexpensive, and practical. Soon, other synthetics offered similar promises: Polyester resisted wrinkles, and later synthetic blends offered stretch, moisture-wicking, and easy washing.

Creative Commons/H. Armstrong Roberts/Classicstock/Getty Images

Wool undefeated

Consumers had perfectly good reasons to want these new fabrics. But somewhere along the way, convenience made us lose sight of the qualities that made natural materials beautiful in the first place.

Acrylic, for example, could imitate wool at a fraction of the price, without the moths or troublesome washing. But the bargain came with costs: Acrylic retains odors more readily, generates static, manages moisture poorly, and can melt when exposed to flame. A good wool sweater can still look beautiful decades later. Anyone who has owned a cheap acrylic sweater knows that isn't always true of its substitute.

What few people standing at a department-store counter in 1940 could have imagined was the scale to which synthetics would come to dominate the clothes we wear. Polyester alone accounts for roughly 59% of global fiber production. We have reached the point at which much of the clothing touching our skin every day is made principally from plastic.

Plastic by any other name

That has consequences far beyond the feel of a shirt. Synthetic textiles shed microscopic plastic fibers as they are manufactured, worn, washed, and dried. Researchers have found these fibers in wastewater, household dust, and indoor and outdoor air. A fleece jacket doesn't cease being plastic because it has been transformed into something soft enough to wear.

Yet we have developed increasingly flattering language for the substitution. Fur and leather, natural materials used by human beings for millennia, are increasingly treated as environmentally or ethically suspect. Replace them with petroleum-derived synthetics, however, and plastic acquires more flattering names. Acrylic or polyester becomes "faux fur"; polyurethane or PVC becomes "vegan leather." The language makes the substitution sound almost virtuous.

Recycling has helped make plastic similarly easier to embrace. Turning discarded bottles into clothing can reduce the demand for new petroleum-derived material, but it doesn't make the plastic disappear. A recycled-polyester shirt can still shed synthetic fibers, and at the end of its useful life, it presents many of the same disposal problems as other synthetic textiles.

You are what you wear

Then there is the more complicated question of what all this means for our bodies.

No one anticipated the emerging health problem of microplastics. Synthetic fibers like polyester, nylon, spandex, and acrylic constantly shed microplastic particles. These particles can contain or carry chemicals, including PFAS — the persistent “forever chemicals” used in some water- and stain-resistant textiles — phthalates, dyes, and flame retardants, some of which are known or suspected endocrine disruptors. The fibers themselves can be inhaled or ingested, while researchers continue to investigate the extent to which chemicals associated with them enter the body through different routes.

Studies have found that chemicals released from textile microfibers may contribute to effects including hormonal disruption, immune stress, and oxidative damage. Other research has linked exposure to certain endocrine-disrupting chemicals, including some used in plastics and textiles, with effects on male reproductive health.

Exactly what ordinary exposure to microplastics means for human health over a lifetime remains an active area of research. The ubiquity of plastics is nevertheless a profound environmental problem affecting the globe.

Cleaning house

So what do we do?

We don't have to empty our closets tomorrow, and we aren't going to eliminate synthetic materials from modern life. They have legitimate uses, and in some circumstances, they are remarkably useful.

But we can begin paying attention again.

We can look at the tag before buying a sweater. We can choose wool instead of acrylic, linen instead of polyester, cotton instead of a synthetic blend when those choices make sense. We can buy fewer things and expect more from them. We can seek out manufacturers that tell us what their products are made from and make things intended to survive more than a season.

Consumer choice helped make the world we have, and I believe it can help change it. Every decision to buy something made from natural materials, to choose something made well enough to keep, or simply to refuse another disposable product creates demand for something better.

Clothes and connection

That belief is part of what led me to create the Solarium. I wanted to make it easier to find the foods, clothing, and everyday products I was already searching for myself — and to connect people with the makers and producers who are still trying to do things well. If convenience helped lead us away from many of these things in the first place, perhaps we can make choosing them convenient again.

And perhaps buying less, choosing better, and keeping things longer isn't a retreat from progress. It's a way of caring for the world we actually inhabit.

My mother's closet offers a small reminder of what that can look like. Those clothes have been kept for decades because they were worth keeping. Someone chose the fabric carefully. Someone made the garment to last. And because it lasted, someone cared enough to preserve it.

That relationship between maker, material, and owner once seemed ordinary. Perhaps it can again.

'Trust the science' or die: Is being MAHA hazardous to your health?

If you didn't like Anthony Fauci before, his newly released diaries most likely won't change your opinion. They paint a picture of a spotlight-hungry functionary who projected certainty where little existed and punished dissent when it proved inconvenient.

Meanwhile, the "In Fauci We Trust" set are crowing about a new study that claims conservatives are dying at significantly higher rates than liberals largely because they don't trust doctors.

It’s a predictable, entirely rational counter-reaction to an establishment that completely torched its own credibility.

The narrative is less public health finding than moral vindication: Voting red is apparently a terminal diagnosis, and skepticism toward the medical establishment is a self-inflicted death sentence. It’s a beautifully smug theory, provided you don't look too closely at how the physical universe actually works.

Old news

Let’s start with the most glaringly obvious flaw in this supposedly groundbreaking research. The authors act utterly baffled by a widening mortality gap between 2020 and 2022, noting with analytical horror that more "very conservative" respondents suffered fatal health failures than "very liberal" ones.

They claim they controlled for age, but anyone with a basic grasp of American demographics knows who populates these ideological buckets. The conservative base overwhelmingly skews older, grayer, and more rural. The "very liberal" cohort is heavily populated by 20-something urbanites whose greatest health risk is a poorly navigated electric scooter.

Shocking news, everyone: An aging population of grandparents in America's heartland are dying of heart disease and stroke faster than a bunch of college-educated baristas in Brooklyn. You don’t need a multimillion-dollar grant to solve that mystery.

Trust fall

The study's real target isn't biology but the conservative psyche. The researchers discuss a trust deficit, lamenting that the right has developed a pathological aversion to medical authorities. They treat this skepticism like a bizarre, localized mental glitch, completely ignoring the fact that the medical establishment spent years earning every single ounce of that hostility.

Conservative mistrust of institutional science didn't emerge from a vacuum, nor was it cooked up by unhinged lunatics on social media. It was forged in the absolute dumpster fire of the COVID-19 response.

For two years, the public was subjected to an unprecedented psychological experiment run by federal health bureaucrats who changed their official directives as often as they changed their socks. Remember when masks were useless, then mandatory, then so effective you needed to wear two at once, all based on "The Science" that conveniently shifted to match political pressures?

Anna Moneymaker/Getty Images

Shot in the dark

Then came the vaccines, rolled out at warp speed with the solemn institutional promise that they would stop transmission dead in its tracks.

When that turned out to be completely false, the goalposts weren’t just moved — they were loaded onto a flatbed truck and driven across state lines. Instead of acknowledging the technology's numerous limitations, the establishment doubled down, turning a pharmaceutical product into a loyalty oath.

If you want to know why a farmer in Ohio is hesitant to take blood pressure medication today, look no farther than the sheer cruelty of the mass lockdowns.

People watched their life savings evaporate as local authorities forced small, independent businesses to close while letting multibillion-dollar corporate retail giants stay open with zero restrictions.

Tens of thousands of workers were handed an ultimatum: Take an experimental shot or lose your livelihood. Those who refused were promptly unpersoned. They were banished from polite society, labeled domestic threats, and, in some of the most dystopian twists, de-banked and financially marooned by institutions that decided political compliance was a prerequisite for access to their own money.

Screen death

Worst of all was the profound, institutionalized inhumanity enforced at the hospital doors. Americans across the country were forced to watch their parents and spouses die through FaceTime screens because draconian hospital policies forbade them to hold loved ones' hands in their final moments.

Meanwhile, health officials suddenly discovered that the virus was highly politically literate, giving a free pass to the massive BLM and George Floyd riots because they deemed the cause to be a higher priority than viral containment.

Apparently, the COVID-19 virus was deeply moved by the social justice movement and agreed to pause transmission for the summer, so long as you were burning down a local Wendy’s instead of trying to run your small business. The hypocrisy was loud, proud, and thoroughly televised.

Survival instinct

So when federal health policy undergoes a massive shake-up and movements like "Make America Healthy Again" gain real traction, it’s not an anti-science cult. Quite the opposite. It’s a predictable, entirely rational counter-reaction to an establishment that completely torched its own credibility. Trust is slowly earned and quickly lost, and institutions spent two years treating their remaining credibility like a game of Jenga.

Skepticism toward a medical system that got so much wrong, so destructively, is less a sign of ignorance than a basic survival instinct. If conservatives are looking at the medical establishment with a heavy dose of side-eye these days, it’s for good reason. The memories of being locked down, masked up, and lied to still burn like a bad rash.

The wellness industry has a pill for everything — but how many actually work?

I like to stay fit, which means I spend a fair share of my life dodging supplement ads that follow me across the internet like demented pigeons. Open YouTube and a square-jawed influencer explains why his morning requires 17 capsules, three powders, and something harvested from a mountain reachable only by yak.

Every week brings a new miracle molecule. Last week it sold longevity. This week, telepathy. Next week, immortality.

This is the tragic comedy of wellness culture. We obsess over optimization while ignoring the obvious.

Then there is the cult of optimization, embodied by Bryan Johnson, the man who turned his own body into the priciest science project in operation. Johnson's regimen reportedly involves constant blood testing, endless biometric tracking, and enough pills to stock a pharmacy. He once had a liter of his teenage son's plasma pumped into his veins and shipped his own down to his 70-year-old father. The biomarkers showed nothing, so he stopped.

Yet even Johnson recently revealed that he has autoimmune gastritis, a chronic disease in which, as he put it, "my stomach is eating itself." After years of measuring almost everything measurable, biology still found a way to surprise him

Ordinary people may not have the means to go to the extremes Johnson does, but they have absorbed the same basic message: that health is something you buy rather than something you build.

Pill-pilled

You see it at any gym. A middle-aged accountant arrives with a supplement stack heavier than his dumbbells. A retiree keeps a cupboard that resembles a chemistry bench. Someone winded by a single staircase swallows enough capsules each morning to rattle when he walks.

Our ancestors built civilizations and survived brutal winters without starting each day on a fistful of tablets. Plenty of them died young, taken by infection or a tooth gone septic. But many of the chronic diseases now filling supplement advertisements were far less common than they are today. Their greatest threats came from outside the body. Ours are increasingly self-inflicted.

But some supplements still earn their place. A recent review of the evidence offers a useful reminder that health runs far simpler than the industry selling it wants us to believe.

The point isn't that supplements never work. It's that they work best when they correct an actual deficiency.

The review focuses on older adults, the group most likely to develop genuine nutritional shortfalls. Appetite fades with age. Medications interfere with absorption. Bad teeth turn eating into a chore, and illness complicates the rest.

In those cases, targeted supplementation helps.

B is for boring

Vitamin B12 is the clearest example. Deficiency becomes more common with age and can lead to fatigue, nerve damage, and even anemia. Vitamin D matters for people who rarely see the sun or face a higher risk of fractures. Folate has its uses. Calcium and magnesium help when the diet falls short. Omega-3 supplementation may also benefit some people, particularly those who consume little oily fish.

Notice the pattern. The supplements that earn their keep are the incredibly boring ones.

Nobody films a breathless video about correcting a documented B12 deficiency. No fjord-gazing influencer hawks a luxury magnesium subscription against a slow-motion sunrise. Common sense doesn't trend.

Universal/Getty Images

Meat is medicine

The most striking finding in the review involves protein.

For all the noise about exotic compounds and futuristic blends, many older adults simply don’t eat enough of it. That gap accelerates muscle loss and costs them their independence. A chicken breast and a good steak may do more for healthy aging than an entire shelf of capsules.

This is the tragic comedy of wellness culture. We obsess over optimization while ignoring the obvious.

Supplements promise something modern people desperately want: the feeling that health can be outsourced to a purchase rather than earned through habit.

No mystery

The body isn't nearly as mysterious as the wellness industry pretends. Sleep still does the heavy lifting. Resistance training still preserves muscle. A sensible diet still outperforms most supplement stacks. Protein still matters more than almost anyone admits.

These points are rather dull. They flatline on a podcast and resist packaging into a $90 tub. Nobody gets rich selling a balanced breakfast. No influencer films a viral hit called "The Shocking Secret of Eating Enough Protein."

The supplement market thrives because basics bore us and shortcuts seduce us. People would rather believe longevity hides inside a capsule pulled from a rare plant than accept that the answer involves lifting heavy things, eating enough protein, and getting to bed at a sensible hour.

So the market keeps ballooning on the promise that health can be bought instead of built.

Dig in

Sometimes a supplement is the right call. A confirmed deficiency deserves treatment. Certain medical conditions demand it. But the evidence keeps arriving at a conclusion that borders on anticlimactic.

For most people without a documented deficiency, more pills don't buy better health.

The foundations stay stubbornly old-fashioned, which is exactly why nobody can sell them back to you at a markup.

After years of being told health demands endless powders and concoctions, the answer turns out to be almost insultingly plain.

The miracle formula was never in the bottle. It was on the dinner plate all along, quietly waiting while the wellness industry invented another miracle.

Rural health is the next MAHA frontier

As a Virginia farmer, I have spent years fighting regulatory overreach and corporate consolidation that hollow out rural America.

So when Rep. Anna Paulina Luna (R-Fla.) recently led the effort to remove a pesticide-liability shield from the House farm bill, rural families had reason to cheer.

If we are serious about children’s health in rural America, we should examine whether newer technologies can reduce toxic exposures.

The provision would have given pesticide manufacturers such as Bayer broad protection from “failure to warn” lawsuits brought by Americans who allege glyphosate caused their cancer. It also would have limited the ability of states and local communities to establish no-spray zones near schools and weakened protections for waterways.

In other words, it was top-down federal overreach and a corporate handout disguised as “regulatory uniformity.” It had no place in legislation meant to serve farmers and rural families.

Luna’s amendment passed 280-142, with more than 70 House Republicans joining all but six Democrats.

Republicans such as Luna deserve credit for refusing to grant blanket immunity to corporations at the expense of American families. They also showed that Make America Healthy Again can become a governing philosophy — one that puts children, families, and farmers ahead of well-connected industries.

More than three years after Robert F. Kennedy Jr. announced his presidential campaign and later joined forces with President Donald Trump, the MAHA movement continues to secure policy victories with consequences that families may feel for decades.

The pesticide fight is only one part of a much larger question. Once policymakers begin examining preventable chemical exposures, the issue does not stop at the edge of the field.

Former Rep. Renee Ellmers (R-N.C.), a nurse and Tea Party leader, has noted that many of the same rural children whose schools and waterways Luna’s amendment would protect also spend hours each week riding older diesel school buses. Exposure to diesel exhaust has been linked to pediatric asthma, ADHD, and other health and developmental concerns.

If we are serious about children’s health in rural America, we should examine whether newer technologies can reduce those exposures.

That does not mean Washington should dictate transportation choices to rural districts. It means farmers and small-town families should have a seat at the table and access to resources when cleaner options, including electric school buses, become practical.

Bagira22/Getty Images

The American Lung Association projects more than $43,000 in health savings per electric bus through reductions in asthma attacks and respiratory illness. Electric buses are also substantially quieter than diesel models, which could benefit students with autism or sensory sensitivities.

Each community should weigh the costs and benefits for itself. But the issue deserves serious local consideration.

Rural water quality deserves the same attention.

A recent national analysis found that more than one in five Americans receive drinking water from systems with elevated nitrate levels associated with cancer and birth defects. Many of the hardest-hit communities are in agricultural regions.

Researchers and public health advocates have also raised concerns about PFAS “forever chemicals” contaminating farmland and groundwater, sometimes forcing farming operations to shut down.

Farmers understand better than anyone that stewardship has consequences. The land, water, and infrastructure we pass to the next generation will shape rural health long after today’s political battles are forgotten.

Reducing unnecessary exposures and modernizing aging infrastructure where it makes sense are practical, pro-family goals that fit squarely within the MAHA vision.

Luna and her colleagues showed that Congress can still deliver for rural American families when lawmakers put them ahead of corporate interests.

They should keep going.

My new hack for a long, healthy life? Getting married

Admittedly, planning a wedding is a strange time to start reading cancer research. The seating chart had 17 unresolved feuds in it; the oncology journals felt like lighter reading.

Until they didn't.

Public health researchers call this 'social monitoring.' In practice, it means someone loving you enough to be annoying about your symptoms.

A recent American study, drawing on more than 4 million cancer cases, found that adults who never married face considerably higher cancer rates than those who did. Never-married women saw rates dramatically elevated. Never-married men weren't far behind.

The gap widens after age 55, which is when a lifetime of accumulated habits, poor decisions, and missed appointments begins sending invoices.

Settling for less?

Marriage rates in America have fallen steadily for decades. What was once expected is now optional — and sometimes viewed with suspicion. The language around "settling down" carries a faint odor of defeat, as though building a life with someone else were a concession rather than a choice.

The cultural conversation, meanwhile, circles endlessly around diet, exercise, and whatever superfood is currently being flown in from a distant rainforest. Billions flow into wellness industries. Podcasts dedicate entire seasons to optimizing sleep. And yet the data keeps returning to something far less marketable: whether you have someone in the next room who gives a damn.

The researchers are careful to avoid claiming that a wedding ring makes tumors vanish. But the pattern holds and appears across most major cancer types. Cancers linked to smoking, alcohol, and infections showed the biggest gaps between married and never-married adults. That concentration is telling. It points at behavior, environment, and the kind of low-level interference that only someone who genuinely cares about you will bother to sustain.

Buddy system

A man living alone can ignore a cough for months. A wife will drag him to a doctor. A woman juggling everything on her own might postpone a checkup indefinitely. A husband will plead, push, insist, and escalate if necessary. Public health researchers call this "social monitoring." In practice, it means someone loving you enough to be annoying about your symptoms.

Then there's the physiological cost of chronic loneliness. Without someone else setting the rhythm, sleep suffers, meals become erratic, and the basic architecture of self-maintenance gradually gives way. A person alone sets his own standards, and standards, without a witness, tend to decline. Freedom looks like a luxury until it tips into neglect.

The research on loneliness as a health risk has been mounting for years. Chronic isolation produces measurable changes in stress hormones, inflammatory markers, and immune function. The body registers abandonment, and it responds accordingly.

Previous generations were hardly models of healthy living. They smoked heavily, drank liberally, and regarded dietary advice as a personal affront. The average mid-century American male was not tracking his resting heart rate. Yet many of them were embedded in something we have spent decades dismantling: long marriages, tight families, a reliable social unit that caught problems early and addressed them without being asked. The neighbor who checked in. The sibling who showed up uninvited. The spouse who had the kettle on before the door had closed behind you.

Noticing matters enormously.

The author with his mother and grandmother. Photo courtesy of John Mac Ghlionn

The cure of community

Cancer rates in younger Americans have been climbing. The old assumption — that serious disease waits its turn at the end of a long life — has expired. It is arriving earlier, frequently without warning, and the reflexive response has been to scrutinize diet, sleep, and screen time. All valid. All insufficient on their own.

There are complications worth acknowledging. Marriage has its limits as a medical intervention. As Tina Turner and Johnny Depp demonstrated at considerable personal cost, not all marriages are protective. Some are so destructive that they make solitude look like sensible doctor's orders.

Nevertheless, the directional evidence holds.

Knee-deep in wedding planning, I keep returning to what this whole undertaking actually represents. Families reactivate. Old friendships resurface. Obligations form. The ceremony is a public declaration that someone will be watching, intervening, and on occasion refusing to let you get away with things.

The vows carry legal and emotional weight. They're also a mutual surveillance agreement, entered into willingly, which turns out to be rather good for your health.

We've built an entire cultural vocabulary around independence. Self-optimization. Personal growth. The solo journey. These are not entirely worthless ideas, but they have crowded out an older and more durable understanding. Humans aren’t built for sustained isolation. The people around us, intrusive and imperfect as they are, perform functions that no app, no routine, and no amount of cold-plunge evangelism can replicate.

A culture that treats relationships as provisional and commitment as one lifestyle choice among many is making a collective wager. The evidence suggests the odds aren't favorable. In ways we're only beginning to quantify, permanence appears to be protective.