A few years ago, entrepreneur Julius Ritter was a peptide skeptic. Then he started injecting the compounds regularly into his stomach and backside. Ritter, a blond, brown-eyed 24-year-old with a Clavicular jaw, claims they fixed his lagging energy levels and stalled muscle gains in the gym. His current protocol includes two peptides, retatrutide and BPC-157, that are available as “research use only.” 

On a recent Sunday, Ritter decided to bring his wellness discussions out of the group chats and into the real world. He hosted the inaugural California Peptide Club meeting at AGI House, a multimillion-dollar Twin Peaks mansion where aspiring AI entrepreneurs rent rooms and work. Ritter, who is president of the house, decorated it for the gathering with toga-clad mannequins, their sashes adorned with syringes. 

Around 110 people, mostly Gen Zers and millennials, showed up to hear six panelists, including Dr. Alexander Grinberg, who will be a physician on an $80,000 luxury longevity tour run by Xprize founder Peter Diamandis. The speakers discussed their “stacks” — the combinations of compounds they are injecting or ingesting — and debated where peptides go next, as guests snacked on cheese slices and LaCroix.

In San Francisco, the conversations around peptides have evolved from “What are you taking?” to “What are you building?” Despite many of the compounds being in legal limbo and lacking the support of medical experts, Bay Area techies are racing to be the first to capitalize on the wellness trend with startups and events. Venture capitalists have started pouring in money, despite the uncertainty and health risks.

Welcome to hot peptide summer.

A quick primer: Peptides are short chains of amino acids that signal the body to take specific actions like regulate hormones or repair tissue. Insulin is a peptide. So are Ozempic and other GLP-1 weight loss drugs. There are thousands of peptides, some with decades of clinical research, the majority with very little. 

Most of the compounds fueling the Bay’s peptide craze are not approved by the Food and Drug Administration but are for “research use only” — a label that technically means not for human consumption but has become a workaround for buyers. Retatrutide, for example, is still in Phase 3 trials at Eli Lilly. There’s been little research on BPC-157, which stands for “body protection compound” and is anecdotally touted for tendon and gut healing. 

These are off-limits to prescribe, dispense, or compound. Medical experts warn that using unapproved peptides comes with real risks, including quality variability, unclear dosing, and contamination. There’s almost no long-term safety data. 

Then there’s the sourcing issue. Friends and acquaintances constantly ask Ritter where to buy peptides. He won’t say. He has also passed on teaming up with peptide sellers, who’ve offered influencer commissions for every buyer he refers; he’s wary of steering people toward unvetted products. The majority of peptides arrive via China, and their quality is a challenge to verify.

“There’s no transparency; there’s no intellectual honesty here,” said Dr. Jordan Shlain, founder of the concierge chain Private Medical. He warns that untested peptides could trigger “potentially irreversible” autoimmune reactions. “I will change my point of view when a proper trial [shows] that this thing has a benefit,” he said. “Right now, it’s just theater.”

But the sales pitch — perfect skin! perfect muscles! perfect mental acuity! — is proving more seductive than playing it safe. The opportunity to profit, even more so. 

The peptide wave is just beginning: Google searches for the term have overtaken (opens in new tab) those for pickleball, matcha, boba, and Labubu. Celebrities are dabbling: Country singer LeAnn Rimes gives herself daily shots.

Lawyers who specialize in the healthcare business say they’re bombarded with calls from people interested in entering the market, as suppliers, prescribers, or the “pick-and-shovel” companies building the market infrastructure. “They’re not happy with what I have to tell them,” said David Holt of Holt Law, who fields five to 10 inquiries a day from aspiring pep-trepreneurs. (opens in new tab) They see him as “the buzzkill guy,” he added.

“It’s just like the California gold rush,” said Jesse Dresser, an attorney in the life sciences department of law firm Frier Levitt.

The boom in interest can be traced to a February appearance by Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. on “The Joe Rogan Experience.” Kennedy criticized the FDA’s “illegal” classification of 19 peptides as unsafe, saying he planned to make some of them more accessible. Two months later, the FDA removed 12 peptides from category 2, its “do not compound” list for substances with safety concerns, and scheduled a July review hearing.

Legally, nothing meaningful has changed. But entrepreneurs saw this as a signal to ship, figuring that first-mover advantage is worth the risk. 

The startups fall broadly into two camps. There are those building telehealth platforms and supply chains so they can “flip a switch” if the FDA gives the green light. Others already are selling through gated memberships with disclaimers, “research use only” branding, or AI-slop storefronts that redirect buyers elsewhere for a commission. “The business is ready and waiting,” said Holt. “[But] they haven’t updated their website [yet].”

“People read the tea leaves and said, ‘I am OK with this loophole, because these [will] be permitted,’” said Dresser. “They’re banking on the fact that no one is going to enforce it when it’s going to be legal tomorrow.” 

It’s a gamble.

In April, Max Marchione, cofounder of the blood testing AI longevity startup Superpower, unveiled Superpower Peptides. Join the waitlist, he posted, as “the peptide era begins.” Kind of. Superpower is supplying only approved peptides, for now. “We’re just waiting for the FDA,” said Marchione. 

“Our investors were very anti-peptide four months ago,” he said. “Now they think we’re well positioned to be the peptide company in the U.S.”

In recent months, the 25-year-old Australian has become the Bay Area’s peptide poster boy, boosted by his company’s infamous “peptide Fridays,” when employees injected themselves with gray-market compounds during breakfast in the office. Alas, the events didn’t survive the spotlight, scrapped for being too flip for “the clinical gravity” of the message. “Now we do collagen peptide Fridays,” said Marchione; this involves drinking a legal powder stirred into water. He removed peptides from the communal work fridge and ordered a dedicated one — no more peptides sitting next to sandwiches. Naturally, the peptide fridge will go on a plinth. 

Superpower plans to develop nasal (opens in new tab)-spray versions of modified BPC-157, semaglutide, and other compounds in collaboration with Australian startup Tetratherix. The bigger plan is to rebrand peptides, making them as “socially acceptable as vaping,” said Marchione.

It’s part of a broader wave of venture-funded peptide startups trying to get ahead of regulators. For the most part, they’re positioning themselves as FDA-approved purveyors, while plotting out their gray-market strategy.

San Francisco (opens in new tab)-based NoHo Labs, founded by Matt Mazzeo, a former general partner at investment firm Coatue, has raised $16 million and is backed by investor Elad Gil and 8VC, the fund from Palantir’s Joe Lonsdale. NoHo Labs recently scrubbed its site of gray-market offerings. System (opens in new tab) Labs, a San Francisco-based telehealth provider, said it works with clinicians in every state and sticks to legal compounds, for now. Others, like Stack, (opens in new tab) are still in beta.

Then there are the gray-and-proud operators like The Protocole, a New York-based peptide membership startup that raised a $6 million seed round led by Rare Capital — an anomaly when gray-market peptide raises are under the radar. On social media, The Protocole frames itself as the middle ground between “sketchy internet sites” and expensive longevity clinics, pitching respectability with doctors’ oversight and peptides shipped from an FDA-regulated pharmacy.

Vril Peptides (opens in new tab) launched its Caesar-core website in February and provides peptides and AI blood work analysis. Its founders, who previously worked in crypto and startup growth, declined to be named, citing potential “serious issues” if identified. “There’s an epidemic of young, ill people who need to put their health in their own hands in order to heal themselves,” they said.

The compounds are also being folded into existing businesses. In March, Dr. Brett Florie, an anesthesiologist and founder of IV clinic chain The Hydration Room, opened his 56th location in Cow Hollow. In a glass display case, gray-market vials are lined up like luxury skincare. The selection includes “BPC-Wolverine + KPV,” an “X-Men” inspired anti-inflammatory blend, and Thymosin alpha 1, marketed for immune support.

“It’s gonna be approved very shortly,” said Florie, who requires patients to get bloodwork before starting peptides.

Shlain argues that such tests create a false sense of safety. “The only reason why they’re asking you to do a blood test is that if something goes wildly wrong, you know that it went wrong. There’s no blood test to show you that it went right.” 

But Uma Chalik, an investor at Torch Capital, is bullish. She takes monthly meetings from startups that include peptide pharmacies and “business in a box” platforms for medspas. “It’s a really big opportunity for VCs,” she said. “Versus crypto, I think peptides are here to stay. It’s a movement.” She predicts peptide bars, à la Skin Laundry, popping up in every major city.

Other VCs report a deluge of pitches and note that it’s a small window of opportunity, with little else on the horizon “having comparable potential.”

Not every VC is biting. Garri Zmudze of LongeVC dismissed the category outright. “We don’t look at [peptides],” he said. “There is no IP.”

Most peptides are either unpatentable or out of patent, meaning no exclusivity or venture-size returns — which advocates say explains the lack of rigorous studies. “I want to see more proof,” said Zmudze. “I don’t think it’s really good to do experiments on yourself.”

The other downside is financial risk. “[Investors] would have a pretty good buffer when it comes to criminal and even civil exposure,” said Holt. “But financially, it could all just be gone, just like that.”

Gray-market startups are betting on an enforcement gap. 

“There’s the law on the books, and then there’s the law as it’s enforced, and we’re not seeing a lot of enforcement,” said Patricia Zettler, a law professor at Ohio State and former HHS counsel. Much of the peptide market is “pretty clearly running afoul” of FDA rules, she added, and the “research use only” label is “not a slam-dunk ‘get out of FDA free’ card.” 

One reason founders feel empowered to flout the rules is the agency’s track record. Since December, the FDA has sent seven warning letters to peptide companies, including the Chappell Roan-inspired Pink Pony Peptides, which continues to operate. (Roan is not affiliated.) HHS reps did not answer questions about current sales or enforcement, instead pointing to the agency’s July meeting on peptide risks and safety, which will weigh whether some can be approved for compounding.

Peter Koshland, who teaches clinical pharmacy at UCSF and runs Koshland Pharm in the Financial District, said peptides have upended many of the industry’s safety standards. For months, his staff has fielded calls from doctors about BPC-157 and other unapproved peptides. “Up until this point, I’ve been expected and required to dispense medications with a very high standard of safety and clinical utility,” he said. “That isn’t present in some of the peptide dispensing.”

Even if he wanted to, pharmaceutical-grade versions fit for human use are not available. “Research-grade chemicals are basically all that’s available,” he said. “I would lose my license if I was to compound with them and give them to a patient.” If the peptides were greenlit tomorrow, he could still not dispense research chemicals. “There is no way to just Sharpie that with some testing.” 

A pharma-grade supply chain would take three to nine months to develop, said Scott Brunner, CEO of the Alliance for Pharmacy Compounding, an industry group. In the interim, “pharmacies are being pounded by prescribers and patients to prepare these drugs,” he said. Some are risking it, gambling that “all of the past sins will go away once they’re authorized.” While he’s concerned, he doesn’t view it as a crisis. “This isn’t heroin. We don’t have bodies in the street.”

Koshland is less optimistic. “The level of political pressure coming from above to the FDA for these specific medications is unprecedented,” he said. “We’re all holding our breath a little bit and just hoping that nobody gets hurt.”

Two weeks after hosting his California Peptide Club, Ritter was already planning more. On the docket: a build-your-own peptide meetup, using AI to modify GLPs, a genome sequencing event, and possibly an IV drip night. He’s considering starter packs for new-to-San Francisco aspiring founders — “a performance peptide welcome kit” with a mini-fridge, syringes, and maybe samples, assuming he can figure out the legal side.

The challenge, he said, is making sure people experiment safely and take care of the basics — sleep, exercise, nutrition — first. “It’s dangerous when you try to shortcut taking care of your natural biology,” he said. As for him, he’s forging ahead. “I love being the guinea pig. It’s so exciting. SF is so back.”