This is Optimizer, a weekly newsletter sent every Friday from Verge senior reviewer Victoria Song that dissects and discusses the latest phones, smartwatches, apps, and other gizmos that swear they’re going to change your life. Optimizer arrives in our subscribers’ inboxes at 10AM ET. Opt in for Optimizer here.
The other day I was staring into my toilet. Not because I was hungover, stricken with food poisoning, or in the midst of a deep clean. No, I was installing a gadget that I affectionately call the Pee Shell. The actual name is the Withings U-Scan, a $380 at-home urinalysis test with a removable cartridge that either measures your nutritional biomarkers or the likelihood of developing kidney stones.
Somehow, for legitimate work purposes, I was going to spend the next several weeks measuring my pee. Because my pee was going to provide crucial data about my ketone, vitamin C, hydration, and “bioacidity” levels, whatever the hell that meant. Armed with this data, I could theoretically further optimize my diet and… I don’t know. Be healthier?
Also on my mind was a new smart hormone testing kit I’d have to set up. I repeat: a smart hormone testing kit. Because apparently hormone optimization is a trending wellness topic, particularly among influencers trying to “naturally heal their polycystic ovary syndrome,” realign their cortisol levels, or conquer the dreaded and ambiguous specter of “inflammation.”
Marked in my calendar? The next two-week testing stint for my last pair of over-the-counter continuous glucose monitors. Or, as companies have begun to call them, glucose biosensors. In my inbox were several pitches proposing I set up an appointment to get my blood drawn so that I could upload the data into an algorithm so I could keep an eye on more biomarkers than I could feasibly keep track of. It’s not from hokey, no-name startups, either. These were also features Oura and Whoop introduced in the past year. In the past, I’ve tested multiple sweat patches that claim to optimize my hydration so I can perform better.
It was at this point, right before my cat batted my ceramic Oura Ring 4 from the toilet tank into the bowl, that I realized the cursed truth. I’ve become a living, breathing wellness tech science experiment.
Behold, the Withings U-Scan, aka the Pee Shell. Photo by Amelia Holowaty Krales / The Verge
On paper, I’m an ideal subject for this extensive testing. I’m genetically predisposed to diabetes and have multiple metabolic conditions. I train a lot. Theoretically, tracking all these factors could give me insight into how well treatments are working between doctor’s appointments. I could tweak my nutrition, log it, and have evidence for a more informed check-in with my doctor. Combined with long-term sleep, heart rate, blood oxygen, and cardio fitness metrics, this maximalist approach could perhaps empower me to conquer the hormonal imperfections I was born with.
But it’s a laborious undertaking. There’s always an optimal way to use these wellness gadgets and features. Tests and measurements need to be conducted under specific conditions, or you could bork results. For example, when Samsung introduced smartwatch body composition measurements, reviewers were advised to try it at the same time every morning, on an empty stomach, after going to the bathroom, preferably not on your period or wearing jewelry, and with moisturized hands. I’m not kidding. I know several reviewers who were scolded by the Galaxy Watch 4 for having dry fingers.
With connected health gadgets and wearables, the device itself only stores data for a certain period of time, and it varies on each device. Most gadgets and apps recommend daily syncing. If you are looking for multiple data inputs, compiling everything in a single place is flippin’ hard. The digital health tracking space is incredibly fragmented. It can legitimately take an hour or two out of your day.
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