23andMe filed for bankruptcy last week. The uncertain future of the DNA analytics firm has led droves of people, including me, to delete our accounts after waking up to the fact that we sent our most exploitable information to a random corporation just because we wanted to find out if our potentially 1/8th Hispanic children would qualify for a college scholarship.
Having burned through hundreds of millions of dollars, the company is now “soliciting qualified bids to acquire” its remaining assets, i.e. the genetic profiles of 15 million customers. Which makes you wonder who would pay big bucks for that kind of data. Maybe big pharma, the Chinese Communist Party, or a diabolical comic book villain who would clone me then extort money from my wife who can hardly tolerate one of me?
Despite the potential value of their genetic treasure trove on an aggregate level, 23andMe’s financial collapse demonstrates the questionable value it provided individual clients. As grand as “mapping the human genome” sounds, it seems that for every person who learned they had inherited markers for a disease, there were 20 whose most profound takeaway was finding out they’re predisposed to prodigious quantities of upper-back hair. And for every customer who discovered a long-lost and cherished relative, there’s another who unearthed an illegitimate half-brother in a FanDuel t-shirt asking to borrow “10 G’s until the coast is clear.”
Oh sure, 23andMe proved to thousands of people in Argentina and Chile that their grandparents were actually German, not French or Swiss as family lore contended. But after pondering, “what profession Großvater pursued back in Berlin…” these people moved on with their lives. Because for the vast majority of us, all the value in DNA analysis is upfront. Once you get the initial download, there’s no reason for future interaction.
This business model conundrum reminds me of Shazam, the music-identifying app that claimed two billion installs before being acquired by Apple in 2018 for not that much money. Its promise for early smart phone owners certainly sounded promising: Shazam will “listen” to music playing in any room and then tell you the artist and the name of the song. Cool! But in Silicon Valley parlance, this was “a solution in search of a problem.” Shazam’s technology was interesting, but not essential. It turned out that a person’s “need” to identify a song in a public place is directly correlated to how often they drink with college buddies and find themselves enmeshed in a “This is Pearl Jam / No it’s Soundgarden” argument while listening to 1990 super group Temple of the Dog’s grunge ballad Hunger Strike on which Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell share lead vocals.
Interesting? Yes. Essential? Not so much.
Unlike the weather, stock prices, or my BMI, a person’s DNA doesn’t fluctuate from day-to-day. So once I learned that I’m 93.5% Irish and/or English and that I can smell asparagus in my pee (something I already knew), I don’t need to return to their site in a visit that could be monetized via ads, subscriptions, or “Team Asparagi” merchandise.
Speaking of these last tidbits, it’s kind of hilarious how many trivial observations 23andMoi mis-diagnosed for me. They forecasted correctly that I have hazel eyes, consume a lot of caffeine, and—surprise—don’t have Sickle Cell Anemia. However, they also guessed that I am “Likely tolerant to lactose,” which is—sadly—very untrue. Not to share too many details, but you wouldn’t want to be stuck with me in a vehicle returning from a mid-summer cheese tasting.
They also said I am unlikely to be afraid of heights, but I am absolutely petrified of heights. The only things that scare me more are snakes and being proven wrong. On a ski lift, I always put the bar down. In tall buildings, I stay away from windows. And zip-lining was the worst part of vacationing with my unafraid children. I don’t’ care if it accounts for 51% of Costa Rica’s GDP, count me out!
Further, I found their predictions about my hair to be very hurtful. They said that I likely have no bald spot and would not experience “early hair loss.” Well, I’ve got a prodigious bald spot and 28-years-old sure felt “early” when I was still single and gathering bushels of discarded pelo from my pillow every morning.
Most concerning of all is that, if they got all that wrong, how do I know they didn’t mis-predict my predilection to hereditary thrombophilia, late onset Alzheimer’s, or Maple Syrup Urine Disease (a real condition that is every bit as disgusting as it sounds)? I guess it doesn’t really matter since—like my obsession with music-detecting apps—this brush with consumer DNA analysis now appears to be over.
In case you were wondering, my kids are not Hispanic. They are basically 75% white and 25% South Asian. So, no scholarships. This news was tough to break to my oldest. “Hey son, good news—you’re probably not going to develop a unibrow or Fanconi Amenia Group C,” I reported, “but unfortunately, you’re going to have to get a job to pay for college.”
At least he didn’t have to meet his illegitimate half-uncle, Jim Bob.
THE END (but keep reading…)
Full Disclosure: I was once offered the Head of Sales (or whatever the title was) position at Shazam. I considered it seriously as I really liked the people at the company but decided to not accept it.
WASHINGTON D.C. SHOW - Next Fri-Sat (April 11-12) I’ll be back at the DC Comedy Loft with my comedy pal Paul Farahvar for our 2 Pauls, 1 Show show. Tell all your District pals to come out. Tickets available here.
This week on Reasonably Happy podcast, I speak with the wicked smart Jessica Tarlov, resident Democrat of Fox News’ The Five and co-host of Raging Moderates with Scott “Prof G” Galloway. We talk about the Signal war plans debacle from Trump’s “brain trust,” the Dems’ strategic gaffes, and what it’s like to have to sit next to the wildly unhinged Judge Jeanine Pirro.
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"Oh sure, 23andMe proved to thousands of people in Argentina and Chile that their grandparents were actually German, not French or Swiss as family lore contended. But after pondering, 'what profession Großvater pursued back in Berlin…'" Almost peed myself.