Dear Diary,
The irony wasn’t lost on me today as I sat in my favorite coffee shop, The Grind, staring at my laptop screen while simultaneously checking my 23andMe app. I’ve become oddly obsessed with this genetic testing thing since Mom sent me that kit for Christmas. “It’ll be fun to see where you really come from,” she said, completely ignoring that I’d spent three years researching our family tree. Classic Mom.
What struck me today wasn’t my supposed 2.3% Scandinavian heritage (though I’m now inexplicably drawn to IKEA meatballs), but rather the notification about 23andMe’s latest update. They’re apparently integrating technology salvaged from several bankrupt tech companies. Talk about digital dumpster diving at its finest!
It’s fascinating how these defunct platforms are finding new life in genetic testing. Remember Quibi? That short-lived streaming platform that nobody asked for? Apparently, their content delivery system has been repurposed for displaying genetic marker data. The irony of using failed technology to tell me about my predisposition to male pattern baldness (thanks for that genetic gem, Dad) is too perfect.
My coffee had gone cold by the time I fell down the rabbit hole of researching how 23andMe is basically becoming the Island of Misfit Tech Toys. They’ve acquired assets from at least three failed startups in the past year alone. The pattern-recognition algorithms from that failed AI fashion app (RagTag? FabFit? I can’t remember) are now analyzing genetic predispositions. What once told you blue wasn’t your color now tells you about your lactose intolerance. The circle of life, I suppose.
What really gets me is how nobody seems to question this Frankenstein approach to healthcare technology. Am I the only one who finds it slightly concerning that my deeply personal genetic information is being processed through retrofitted code from companies that couldn’t keep the lights on? Maybe I’m just paranoid. Dave always says I catastrophize—a word he definitely learned in therapy and now uses against me at every opportunity.
The most fascinating acquisition has to be the blockchain technology from that crypto company that imploded spectacularly last year. Remember CoinClimb? The one whose founder is now facing federal charges? Their distributed ledger system is apparently perfect for securely storing genetic information. There’s something darkly poetic about technology designed for anonymous financial transactions now housing the most intimate details of our biological makeup.
I spent my lunch break reading about how 23andMe is implementing these salvaged technologies, and I have to admit, it’s quite clever. The mobile interface from that failed food delivery app (MealWheels? FoodFlash?) has been repurposed to display genetic markers. Swipe right for increased Alzheimer’s risk! Not exactly Tinder, but equally anxiety-inducing.
My coworker Jen caught me researching and asked if I was “one of those people” who believes genetics companies are secretly collecting DNA for government experiments. I laughed it off, but honestly, who knows anymore? The same company that tells me I metabolize caffeine slowly (which explains SO much about my daily three-cup minimum) is also building what amounts to the world’s largest private genetic database using the technological equivalent of spare parts.
The economic aspect is actually brilliant when you think about it. These failed startups spent millions—sometimes billions—developing sophisticated technologies that 23andMe can now acquire for pennies on the dollar. It’s sustainable in a weird way, like architectural salvage but for code. The virtual equivalent of building a house using reclaimed wood and vintage doorknobs.
I’ve started wondering what other bankrupt tech might find new life in unexpected places. Could Theranos’s flawed blood-testing equipment be repurposed for something useful? Probably not—that’s a bridge too far even for my wild speculation. But the principle stands: today’s failed unicorn is tomorrow’s workhorse in a completely different industry.
Speaking of which, I finally managed to convince Mom to try 23andMe too. She’s resistant to anything more technologically advanced than her Facebook account (where she still comments “beautiful family” on every single photo, including my friend Sarah’s new puppy). I told her it would be fun to compare our results, carefully omitting the part about how her genetic information would be processed through the digital remains of Clubhouse and whatever that AR glasses company was called.
The ethical questions keep me up at night sometimes. Not just about data privacy, which is its own massive can of worms, but about the sustainability of this approach. Is it truly innovative to cobble together failed technologies for new purposes, or is it just delaying the inevitable realization that some ideas weren’t meant to succeed? I’m not sure I have the answer, but my Ancestry DNA kit arrived yesterday (yes, I’m doing both—I’m nothing if not thorough), so I’ll soon have twice the genetic information processed through who knows what cobbled-together systems.
Dave thinks I’m overthinking it. “It’s just a fun thing to learn where your ancestors came from,” he said last night. But is it really just that anymore? The line between entertainment and healthcare has blurred considerably. What starts as curiosity about whether you’re really part Irish (spoiler: I’m not, despite what Grandpa always claimed) ends with notifications about your genetic predisposition to heart disease.
For now, I’ll keep watching this fascinating digital transformation unfold. There’s something strangely hopeful about technologies finding second lives in unexpected places. Maybe failure isn’t the end but simply a redirect to a more suitable application. If that’s true, there’s hope for us all—and for the dusty Peloton in my bedroom corner that’s currently serving as an expensive clothes hanger.
Until tomorrow,
Allison
