Here at MIT Technology Review we’ve been writing about the gene-editing technology CRISPR since 2013, calling it the biggest biotech breakthrough of the century. Yet so far, there’s been only one gene-editing drug approved. It’s been used commercially on only about 40 patients, all with sickle-cell disease.

It’s becoming clear that the impact of CRISPR isn’t as big as we all hoped. In fact, there’s a pall of discouragement over the entire field—with some journalists saying the gene-editing revolution has “lost its mojo.”

So what will it take for CRISPR to help more people? A new startup says the answer could be an “umbrella approach” to testing and commercializing treatments. Aurora Therapeutics, which has $16 million from Menlo Ventures and counts CRISPR co-inventor Jennifer Doudna as an advisor, essentially hopes to win approval for gene-editing drugs that can be slightly adjusted, or personalized, without requiring costly new trials or approvals for every new version.

The need to change regulations around gene-editing treatments was endorsed in November by the head of the US Food and Drug Administration, Martin Makary, who said the agency would open a “new” regulatory pathway for “bespoke, personalized therapies” that can’t easily be tested in conventional ways. 

Aurora’s first target, the rare inherited disease phenylketonuria, also known as PKU, is a case in point. People with PKU lack a working version of an enzyme needed to use up the amino acid phenylalanine, a component of pretty much all meat and protein. If the amino acid builds up, it causes brain damage. So patients usually go on an onerous “diet for life” of special formula drinks and vegetables.

In theory, gene editing can fix PKU. In mice, scientists have already restored the gene for the enzyme by rewriting DNA in liver cells, which both make the enzyme and are some of the easiest to reach with a gene-editing drug. The problem is that in human patients, many different mutations can affect the critical gene. According to Cory Harding, a researcher at Oregon Health Sciences University, scientists know about 1,600 different DNA mutations that cause PKU.

There’s no way anyone will develop 1,600 different gene-editing drugs. Instead, Aurora’s goal is to eventually win approval for a single gene editor that, with minor adjustments, could be used to correct several of the most common mutations, including one that’s responsible for about 10% of the estimated 20,000 PKU cases in the US.

“We can’t have a separate clinical trial for each mutation,” says Edward Kaye, the CEO of Aurora. “The way the FDA approves gene editing has to change, and I think they’ve been very understanding that is the case.”

A gene editor is a special protein that can zero in on a specific location in the genome and change it. To prepare one, Aurora will put genetic code for the editor into a nanoparticle along with a targeting molecule. In total, it will involve about 5,000 gene letters. But only 20 of them need to change in order to redirect the treatment to repair a different mutation.

“Over 99% of the drug stays the same,” says Johnny Hu, a partner at Menlo Ventures, which put up the funding for the startup.

The new company came together after Hu met over pizza with Fyodor Urnov, an outspoken gene-editing scientist at the University of California, Berkeley, who is Aurora’s cofounder and sits on its board.

In 2022, Urnov had written a New York Times editorial bemoaning the “chasm” between what editing technology can do and the “legal, financial, and organizational” realities preventing researchers from curing people.

“I went to Fyodor and said, ‘Hey, we’re getting all these great results in the clinic with CRISPR, but why hasn’t it scaled?” says Hu. Part of the reason is that most gene-editing companies are chasing the same few conditions, such as sickle-cell, where (as luck would have it) a single edit works for all patients. But that leaves around 400 million people who have 7,000 other inherited conditions without much hope to get their DNA fixed, Urnov estimated in his editorial.

Then, last May, came the dramatic demonstration of the first fully “personalized” gene-editing treatment. A team in Philadelphia, assisted by Urnov and others, succeeded in correcting the DNA of a baby, named KJ Muldoon, who had an entirely unique mutation that caused a metabolic disease. Though it didn’t target PKU, the project showed that gene editing could theoretically fix some inherited diseases “on demand.” 

It also underscored a big problem. Treating a single child required a large team and cost millions in time, effort, and materials—all to create a drug that would never be used again. 

That’s exactly the sort of situation the new “umbrella” trials are supposed to address. Kiran Musunuru, who co-led the team at the University of Pennsylvania, says he’s been in discussions with the FDA to open a study of bespoke gene editors this year focusing on diseases of the type Baby KJ had, called urea cycle disorders. Each time a new patient appears, he says, they’ll try to quickly put together a variant of their gene-editing drug that’s tuned to fix that child’s particular genetic problem.

Musunuru, who isn’t involved with Aurora, does not think the company’s plans for PKU count as fully personalized editors. “These corporate PKU efforts have nothing whatsoever to do with Baby KJ,” he says. He says his center continues to focus on mutations “so ultra-rare that we don’t see any scenario where a for-profit gene-editing company would find that indication to be commercially viable.”

Instead, what’s occurring in PKU, says Musunuru, is that researchers have realized they can assemble “a bunch” of the most frequent mutations “into a large enough group of patients to make a platform PKU therapy commercially viable.” 

While that would still leave out many patients with extra-rare gene errors, Musunuru says any gene-editing treatment at all would still be “a big improvement over the status quo, which  is zero genetic therapies for PKU.”

The Italian neurosurgeon Sergio Canavero has been preparing for a surgery that might never happen. His idea? Swap a sick person’s head—or perhaps just the brain—onto a younger, healthier body.

Canavero caused a stir in 2017 when he announced that a team he advised in China had exchanged heads between two corpses. But he never convinced skeptics that his technique could succeed—or to believe his claim that a procedure on a live person was imminent. The Chicago Tribune labeled him the “P.T. Barnum of transplantation.”

Canavero withdrew from the spotlight. But the idea of head transplants isn’t going away. Instead, he says, the concept has recently been getting a fresh look from life-extension enthusiasts and stealth Silicon Valley startups.

Career path

It’s been rocky. After he began publishing his surgical ideas a decade ago, Canavero says, he got his “pink slip” from the Molinette Hospital in Turin, where he’d spent 22 years on staff. “I’m an out-of-the-establishment guy. So that has made things harder, I have to say,” he says.  

Why he persists

No other solution to aging is on the horizon. “It’s become absolutely clear over the past years that the idea of some incredible tech to rejuvenate elderly people—­happening in some secret lab, like Google—is really going nowhere,” he says. “You have to go for the whole shebang.”

The whole shebang?

He means getting a new body, not just one new organ. Canavero has an easy mastery of English idioms and an unexpected Southern twang. He says that’s due to a fascination with American comics as a child. “For me, learning the language of my heroes was paramount,” he says. “So I can shoot the breeze.” 

Cloned bodies

Canavero is now an independent investigator and has advised entrepreneurs who want to create brainless human clones as a source of DNA-matched organs that wouldn’t get rejected by a recipient’s immune system. “I can tell you there are guys from top universities involved,” he says.

What’s next

Combining the necessary technologies, like reliably precise surgical robots and artificial wombs to grow the clones, is going to be complex and very, very expensive. Canavero lacks the funds to take his plans further, but he believes “the money is out there” for a commercial moonshot project: “What I say to the billionaires is ‘Come together.’ You will all have your own share, plus make yourselves immortal.”

At first glance, it looks like the start of a human pregnancy: A ball-shaped embryo presses gently into the receptive lining of the uterus and then grips tight, burrowing in as the first tendrils of a future placenta appear. 

This is implantation—the moment that pregnancy officially begins.

Only none of it is happening inside a body. These images were captured in a Beijing laboratory, inside a microfluidic chip, as scientists watched the scene unfold.

In three papers published this week by Cell Press, scientists are reporting what they call the most accurate efforts yet to mimic the first moments of pregnancy in the lab. They’ve taken human embryos from IVF centers and let these merge with “organoids” made of endometrial cells, which form the lining of the uterus.

The reports—two from China and a third involving a collaboration among researchers in the United Kingdom, Spain, and the US—show how scientists are using engineered tissues to better understand early pregnancy and potentially improve IVF outcomes.

“You have an embryo and the endometrial organoid together,” says Jun Wu, a biologist at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center, in Dallas, who contributed to both Chinese reports. “That’s the overarching message of all three papers.”

According to the papers, these 3D combinations are the most complete re-creations yet of the first days of pregnancy and should be useful for studying why IVF treatments often fail.

In each case, the experiments were stopped when the embryos were two weeks old, if not sooner. That is due to legal and ethical rules that typically restrict scientists from going any further than 14 days.

In your basic IVF procedure, an egg is fertilized in the lab and allowed to develop into a spherical embryo called a blastocyst—a process that takes a few days. That blastocyst then gets put into a patient’s uterus in the hope it will establish itself there and ultimately become a baby.

But that’s a common failure point. Many patients will learn that their IVF procedure didn’t work because an embryo never attached.

In the new reports, it’s that initial bond between mother and embryo that is being reproduced in the lab. “IVF means in vitro fertilization, but now this is the stage of in vitro implantation,” says Matteo Molè, a biologist at Stanford University whose results with collaborators in Europe are among those published today. “Considering that implantation is a barrier [to pregnancy], we have the potential to increase the success rate if we can model it in the laboratory.”

Normally implantation is entirely hidden from view because it occurs in someone’s uterus, says Hongmei Wang, a developmental biologist at the Beijing Institute for Stem Cell and Regenerative Medicine, who co-led the effort there. Wang often studies monkeys because she can interrupt their pregnancies to collect the tissues she needs to see. “We’ve always hoped to understand human embryo implantation, but we have lacked a way to do so,” she says. “It’s all happening in the uterus.”

In the Beijing study, researchers tested about 50 donated IVF embryos, but they also ran a thousand more experiments using so-called blastoids. The latter are mimics of early-stage human embryos manufactured from stem cells. Blastoids are easy to make in large numbers and, since they aren’t true embryos, don’t have as many ethical rules on their use.

“The question was, if we have these blastoids, what can we use them for?” says Leqian Yu, the senior author of the report from the Beijing Institute. “The obvious next step was implantation. So how do you do that?”

For the Beijing team, the answer was to build a soft silicone chamber with tiny channels to add nutrients and a space to grow the uterine organoid. After that, blastoids—or real embryos—could be introduced through a window in the device, so the “pregnancy” could start.

“The key question we want to try to answer is what is the first cross-talk between embryo and mother,” says Yu. “I think this is maybe the first time we can see the entire process.”

Medical applications

This isn’t the first time researchers have tried using organoids for this kind of research. At least two startup companies have raised funds to commercialize similar systems—in some cases presenting the organoids as a tool to predict IVF success. In addition to Dawn Bio, a startup based in Vienna, there is Simbryo Technologies, in Houston, which last month said it would begin offering “personalized” predictions for IVF patients using blastoids and endometrial organoids.

To do that test, doctors will take a biopsy of a patient’s uterine lining and grow organoids from it. After that, blastoids will be added to the organoids to gauge whether a woman is likely to be able to support a pregnancy or not. If the blastoids don’t start to implant, it could mean the patient’s uterus isn’t receptive and is the reason IVF isn’t working.

The Beijing team thinks the pregnancy organoids could also be used to identify drugs that might help those patients. In their paper, they describe how they made organoids out of tissue taken from women who’ve had repeated IVF failures. Then they tested 1,119 approved drugs on those samples to see if anything improved.

Several seemed to have helpful effects. One chemical, avobenzone, an ingredient in some types of sunblock, increased the chance that a blastoid would start implanting from just 5% of the time to around 25% of the time. Yu says his center hopes to eventually start a clinical trial if they can find the right drug to try. 

Artificial womb?

The Beijing group is working on ways to improve the organoid system so that it’s even more realistic. Right now, it lacks important cell types, including immune cells and a blood supply. Yu says a next step he’s working on is to add blood vessels and tiny pumps to his chip device, so that he can give the organoids a kind of rudimentary circulation.

This means that in the near future, blastoids or embryos could likely be grown longer, raising questions about how far scientists will be able to take pregnancy in the lab. “I think this technology does raise the possibility of growing things longer,” says Wu, who says some view the research as an initial step toward creating babies entirely outside the body.

However, Wu says incubating a human to term in the laboratory remains impossible, for the time being. “This technology is certainly related to ectogenesis, or development outside the body,” he says. “But I don’t think it’s anywhere near an artificial womb. That’s still science fiction.”

Welcome to our annual list of the worst, least successful, and simply dumbest technologies of the year.

This year, politics was a recurring theme. Donald Trump swept back into office and used his executive pen to reshape the fortunes of entire sectors, from renewables to cryptocurrency. The wrecking-ball act began even before his inauguration, when the president-elect marketed his own memecoin, $TRUMP, in a shameless act of merchandising that, of course, we honor on this year’s worst tech list.

We like to think there’s a lesson in every technological misadventure. But when technology becomes dependent on power, sometimes the takeaway is simpler: it would have been better to stay away.

That was a conclusion Elon Musk drew from his sojourn as instigator of DOGE, the insurgent cost-cutting initiative that took a chainsaw to federal agencies. The public protested. Teslas were set alight, and drivers of his hyped Cybertruck discovered that instead of a thumbs-up, they were getting the middle finger.

On reflection, Musk said he wouldn’t do it again. “Instead of doing DOGE, I would have, basically … worked on my companies,” he told an interviewer this month. “And they wouldn’t have been burning the cars.”

Regrets—2025 had a few. Here are some of the more notable ones.

NEO, the home robot

Imagine a metal butler that fills your dishwasher and opens the door. It’s a dream straight out of science fiction. And it’s going to remain there—at least for a while.

That was the hilarious, and deflating, takeaway from the first reviews of NEO, a 66-pound humanoid robot whose maker claims it will “handle any of your chores reliably” when it ships next year.

But as a reporter for the Wall Street Journal learned, NEO took two minutes to fold a sweater and couldn’t crack a walnut. Not only that, but the robot was teleoperated the entire time by a person wearing a VR visor.

Still interested? Neo is available on preorder for $20,000 from startup 1X.

More: I Tried the Robot That’s Coming to Live With You. It’s Still Part Human (WSJ), The World’s Stupidest Robot Maid (The Daily Show) Why the humanoid workforce is running late (MIT Technology Review), NEO The Home Robot | Order Today (1X Corp.)

Sycophantic AI

It’s been said that San Francisco is the kind of place where no one will tell you if you have a bad idea. And its biggest product in a decade—ChatGPT—often behaves exactly that way.

This year, OpenAI released an especially sycophantic update that told users their mundane queries were brilliantly incisive. This electronic yes-man routine isn’t an accident; it’s a product strategy. Plenty of people like the flattery.

But it’s disingenuous and dangerous, too. Chatbots have shown a willingness to indulge users’ delusions and worst impulses, up to and including suicide.

In April, OpenAI acknowledged the issue when the company dialed back a model update whose ultra-agreeable personality, it said, had the side effect of “validating doubts, fueling anger, urging impulsive actions, or reinforcing negative emotions.”

Don’t you dare agree the problem is solved. This month, when I fed ChatGPT one of my dumbest ideas, its response began: “I love this concept.”

More: What OpenAI Did When ChatGPT Users Lost Touch With Reality (New York Times), Sycophantic AI Decreases Prosocial Intentions and Promotes Dependence (arXiv), Expanding on what we missed with sycophancy (OpenAI)

The company that cried “dire wolf”

When you tell a lie, tell it big. Make it frolic and give it pointy ears. And make it white. Very white.

That’s what the Texas biotech concern Colossal Biosciences did when it unveiled three snow-white animals that it claimed were actual dire wolves, which went extinct more than 10 millennia ago.

To be sure, these genetically modified gray wolves were impressive feats of engineering. They’d been made white via a genetic mutation and even had some bits and bobs of DNA copied over from old dire wolf bones. But they “are not dire wolves,” according to canine specialists at the International Union for Conservation of Nature.

Colossal’s promotional blitz could hurt actual endangered species. Presenting de-extinction as “a ready-to-use conservation solution,” said the IUCN, “risks diverting attention from the more urgent need of ensuring functioning and healthy ecosystems.”

In a statement, Colossal said that sentiment analysis of online activity shows 98% agreement with its furry claims. “They’re dire wolves, end of story,” it says.  

More: Game of Clones: Colossal’s new wolves are cute, but are they dire? (MIT Technology Review), Conservation perspectives on gene editing in wild canids (IUCN),  A statement from Colossal’s Chief Science Officer, Dr. Beth Shapiro (Reddit)

mRNA political purge

Save the world, and this is the thanks you get?

During the covid-19 pandemic, the US bet big on mRNA vaccines—and the new technology delivered in record time. 

But now that America’s top health agencies are led by the antivax wackadoodle Robert F. Kennedy Jr., “mRNA” has become a political slur.

In August, Kennedy abruptly canceled hundreds of millions in contracts for next-generation vaccines. And shot maker Moderna—once America’s champion—has seen its stock slide by more than 90% since its Covid peak.

The purge targeting a key molecule of life (our bodies are full of mRNA) isn’t just bizarre. It could slow down other mRNA-based medicine, like cancer treatments and gene editing for rare diseases.

In August, a trade group fought back, saying: “Kennedy’s unscientific and misguided vilification of mRNA technology and cancellation of grants is the epitome of cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

More: HHS Winds Down mRNA Vaccine Development (US Department of Health and Human Services),  Cancelling mRNA studies is the highest irresponsibility (Nature), How Moderna, the company that helped save the world, unraveled (Stat News)

​​Greenlandic Wikipedia

Wikipedia has editions in 340 languages. But as of this year, there’s one less: Wikipedia in Greenlandic is no more.

Only around 60,000 people speak the Inuit language. And very few of them, it seems, ever cared much about the online encyclopedia. As a result, many of the entries were machine translations riddled with errors and nonsense.

Perhaps a website no one visits shouldn’t be a problem. But its existence created the risk of a linguistic “doom spiral” for the endangered language. That could happen if new AIs were trained on the corrupt Wikipedia articles.  

In September, administrators voted to close Greenlandic Wikipedia, citing possible “harm to the Greenlandic language.”

Read more:  Can AI Help Revitalize Indigenous Languages? (Smithsonian), How AI and Wikipedia have sent vulnerable languages into a doom spiral (MIT Technology Review), Closure of Greenlandic Wikipedia (Wikimedia)

Tesla Cybertruck

There’s a reason we’re late to the hate-fest around Elon Musk’s Cybertruck. That’s because 12 months ago, the polemical polygon was the #1 selling electric pickup in the US.

So maybe it would end up a hit.

Nope. Tesla is likely to sell only around 20,000 trucks this year, about half last year’s total. And a big part of the problem is that the entire EV pickup category is struggling. Just this month, Ford decided to scrap its own EV truck, the F-150 Lightning. 

With unsold inventory building, Musk has started selling Cybertrucks as fleet vehicles to his other enterprises, like SpaceX.

More: Elon’s Edsel: Tesla Cybertruck Is The Auto Industry’s Biggest Flop In Decades (Forbes), Why Tesla Cybertrucks Aren’t Selling (CNBC), Ford scraps fully-electric F-150 Lightning as mounting losses and falling demand hits EV plans (AP)

Presidential shitcoin

Donald Trump launched a digital currency called $TRUMP just days before his 2025 inauguration, accompanied by a logo showing his fist-pumping “Fight, fight, fight” pose.

This was a memecoin, or shitcoin, not real money. Memecoins are more like merchandise—collectibles designed to be bought and sold, usually for a loss. Indeed, they’ve been likened to a consensual scam in which a coin’s issuer can make a bundle while buyers take losses.

The White House says there’s nothing amiss. “The American public believe[s] it’s absurd for anyone to insinuate that this president is profiting off of the presidency,” said spokeswoman Karoline Leavitt in May.

More: Donald and Melania Trump’s Terrible, Tacky, Seemingly Legal Memecoin Adventure (Bloomberg), A crypto mogul who invested millions into Trump coins is getting a reprieve (CNN), How the Trump companies made $1 bn from crypto (Financial Times), Staff Statement on Meme Coins (SEC)

“Carbon-neutral” Apple Watch

In 2023, Apple announced its “first-ever carbon-neutral product,” a watch with “zero” net emissions. It would get there using recycled materials and renewable energy, and by preserving forests or planting vast stretches of eucalyptus trees.

Critics say it’s greenwashing. This year, lawyers filed suit in California against Apple for deceptive advertising, and in Germany, a court ruled that the company can’t advertise products as carbon neutral because the “supposed storage of CO₂ in commercial eucalyptus plantations” isn’t a sure thing.

Apple’s marketing team relented. Packaging for its newest watches doesn’t say “carbon neutral.” But Apple believes the legal nitpicking is counterproductive, arguing that it can only “discourage the kind of credible corporate climate action the world needs.”

More: Inside the controversial tree farms powering Apple’s carbon neutral goal (MIT Technology Review), Apple Watch not a ‘CO2-neutral product,’ German court finds (Reuters), Apple 2030: Our ambition to become carbon neutral (Apple)

One day this fall, I watched an electronic sign outside the Broadway-Lafayette subway station in Manhattan switch seamlessly between an ad for makeup and one promoting the website Pickyourbaby.com, which promises a way for potential parents to use genetic tests to influence their baby’s traits, including eye color, hair color, and IQ.

Inside the station, every surface was wrapped with more ads—babies on turnstiles, on staircases, on banners overhead. “Think about it. Makeup and then genetic optimization,” exulted Kian Sadeghi, the 26-year-old founder of Nucleus Genomics, the startup running the ads. To his mind, one should be as accessible as the other. 

Nucleus is a young, attention-seeking genetic software company that says it can analyze genetic tests on IVF embryos to score them for 2,000 traits and disease risks, letting parents pick some and reject others. This is possible because of how our DNA shapes us, sometimes powerfully. As one of the subway banners reminded the New York riders: “Height is 80% genetic.”

The day after the campaign launched, Sadeghi and I had briefly sparred online. He’d been on X showing off a phone app where parents can click through traits like eye color and hair color. I snapped back that all this sounded a lot like Uber Eats—another crappy, frictionless future invented by entrepreneurs, but this time you’d click for a baby.

I agreed to meet Sadeghi that night in the station under a banner that read, “IQ is 50% genetic.” He appeared in a puffer jacket and told me the campaign would soon spread to 1,000 train cars. Not long ago, this was a secretive technology to whisper about at Silicon Valley dinner parties. But now? “Look at the stairs. The entire subway is genetic optimization. We’re bringing it mainstream,” he said. “I mean, like, we are normalizing it, right?”

Normalizing what, exactly? The ability to choose embryos on the basis of predicted traits could lead to healthier people. But the traits mentioned in the subway—height and IQ—focus the public’s mind toward cosmetic choices and even naked discrimination. “I think people are going to read this and start realizing: Wow, it is now an option that I can pick. I can have a taller, smarter, healthier baby,” says Sadeghi.

Nucleus got its seed funding from Founders Fund, an investment firm known for its love of contrarian bets. And embryo scoring fits right in—it’s an unpopular concept, and professional groups say the genetic predictions aren’t reliable. So far, leading IVF clinics still refuse to offer these tests. Doctors worry, among other things, that they’ll create unrealistic parental expectations. What if little Johnny doesn’t do as well on the SAT as his embryo score predicted?

The ad blitz is a way to end-run such gatekeepers: If a clinic won’t agree to order the test, would-be parents can take their business elsewhere. Another embryo testing company, Orchid, notes that high consumer demand emboldened Uber’s early incursions into regulated taxi markets. “Doctors are essentially being shoved in the direction of using it, not because they want to, but because they will lose patients if they don’t,” Orchid founder Noor Siddiqui said during an online event this past August.

Sadeghi prefers to compare his startup to Airbnb. He hopes it can link customers to clinics, becoming a digital “funnel” offering a “better experience” for everyone. He notes that Nucleus ads don’t mention DNA or any details of how the scoring technique works. That’s not the point. In advertising, you sell the sizzle, not the steak. And in Nucleus’s ad copy, what sizzles is height, smarts, and light-colored eyes.

It makes you wonder if the ads should be permitted. Indeed, I learned from Sadeghi that the Metropolitan Transportation Authority had objected to parts of the campaign. The metro agency, for instance, did not let Nucleus run ads saying “Have a girl” and “Have a boy,” even though it’s very easy to identify the sex of an embryo using a genetic test. The reason was an MTA policy that forbids using government-owned infrastructure to promote “invidious discrimination” against protected classes, which include race, religion and biological sex.

Since 2023, New York City has also included height and weight in its anti-discrimination law, the idea being to “root out bias” related to body size in housing and in public spaces. So I’m not sure why the MTA let Nucleus declare that height is 80% genetic. (The MTA advertising department didn’t respond to questions.) Perhaps it’s because the statement is a factual claim, not an explicit call to action. But we all know what to do: Pick the tall one and leave shorty in the IVF freezer, never to be born.

This article first appeared in The Checkup, MIT Technology Review’s weekly biotech newsletter. To receive it in your inbox every Thursday, and read articles like this first, sign up here.

A West Coast biotech entrepreneur says he’s secured $30 million to form a public-benefit company to study how to safely create genetically edited babies, marking the largest known investment into the taboo technology.  

The new company, called Preventive, is being formed to research so-called “heritable genome editing,” in which the DNA of embryos would be modified by correcting harmful mutations or installing beneficial genes. The goal would be to prevent disease.

Preventive was founded by the gene-editing scientist Lucas Harrington, who described his plans yesterday in a blog post announcing the venture. Preventive, he said, will not rush to try out the technique but instead will dedicate itself “to rigorously researching whether heritable genome editing can be done safely and responsibly.”

Creating genetically edited humans remains controversial, and the first scientist to do it, in China, was imprisoned for three years. The procedure remains illegal in many countries, including the US, and doubts surround its usefulness as a form of medicine.

Still, as gene-editing technology races forward, the temptation to shape the future of the species may prove irresistible, particularly to entrepreneurs keen to put their stamp on the human condition. In theory, even small genetic tweaks could create people who never get heart disease or Alzheimer’s, and who would pass those traits on to their own offspring.

According to Harrington, if the technique proves safe, it “could become one of the most important health technologies of our time.” He has estimated that editing an embryo would cost only about $5,000 and believes regulations could change in the future. 

Preventive is the third US startup this year to say it is pursuing technology to produce gene-edited babies. The first, Bootstrap Bio, based in California, is reportedly seeking seed funding and has an interest in enhancing intelligence. Another, Manhattan Genomics, is also in the formation stage but has not announced funding yet.

As of now, none of these companies have significant staff or facilities, and they largely lack any credibility among mainstream gene-editing scientists. Reached by email, Fyodor Urnov, an expert in gene editing at the University of California, Berkeley, where Harrington studied, said he believes such ventures should not move forward.

Urnov has been a pointed critic of the concept of heritable genome editing, calling it dangerous, misguided, and a distraction from the real benefits of gene editing to treat adults and children. 

In his email, Urnov said the launch of still another venture into the area made him want to “howl with pain.”  

Harrinton’s venture was incorporated in Delaware in May 2025,under the name Preventive Medicine PBC. As a public-benefit corporation, it is organized to put its public mission above profits. “If our research shows [heritable genome editing] cannot be done safely, that conclusion is equally valuable to the scientific community and society,” Harrington wrote in his post.

Harrington is a cofounder of Mammoth Biosciences, a gene-editing company pursuing drugs for adults, and remains a board member there.

In recent months, Preventive has sought endorsements from leading figures in genome editing, but according to its post, it had secured only one—from Paula Amato, a fertility doctor at Oregon Health Sciences University, who said she had agreed to act as an advisor to the company.

Amato is a member of a US team that has researched embryo editing in the country since 2017, and she has promoted the technology as a way to increase IVF success. That could be the case if editing could correct abnormal embryos, making more available for use in trying to create a pregnancy.

It remains unclear where Preventive’s funding is coming from. Harrington said the $30 million was gathered from “private funders who share our commitment to pursuing this research responsibly.” But he declined to identify those investors other than SciFounders, a venture firm he runs with his personal and business partner Matt Krisiloff, the CEO of the biotech company Conception, which aims to create human eggs from stem cells.

That’s yet another technology that could change reproduction, if it works. Krisiloff is listed as a member of Preventive’s founding team.

The idea of edited babies has received growing attention from figures in the cryptocurrency business. These include Brian Armstrong, the billionaire founder of Coinbase, who has held a series of off-the-record dinners to discuss the technology (which Harrington attended). Armstrong previously argued that the “time is right” for a startup venture in the area.

Will Harborne, a crypto entrepreneur and partner at LongGame Ventures, says he’s “thrilled” to see Preventive launch. If the technology proves safe, he argues, “widespread adoption is inevitable,” calling its use a “societal obligation.”

Harborne’s fund has invested in Herasight, a company that uses genetic tests to rank IVF embryos for future IQ and other traits. That’s another hotly debated technology, but one that has already reached the market, since such testing isn’t strictly regulated. Some have begun to use the term “human enhancement companies” to refer to such ventures.

What’s still lacking is evidence that leading gene-editing specialists support these ventures. Preventive was unsuccessful in establishing a collaboration with at least one key research group, and Urnov says he had harsh words for Manhattan Genomics when that company reached out to him about working together. “I encourage you to stop,” he wrote back. “You will cause zero good and formidable harm.”

Harrington thinks Preventive could change such attitudes, if it shows that it is serious about doing responsible research. “Most scientists I speak with either accept embryo editing as inevitable or are enthusiastic about the potential but hesitate to voice these opinions publicly,” he told MIT Technology Review earlier this year. “Part of being more public about this is to encourage others in the field to discuss this instead of ignoring it.”