There’s a Hot New Egg-Freezing Startup. It’s Weirder Than You Could Imagine

Sue’s chosen name resonates with the 2024 body horror film The Substance, where a protagonist’s relentless pursuit of youth and beauty leads to self-inflicted torment. To prequalify for Cofertility’s free egg-freezing program, Sue merely needed to complete a two-minute online quiz. "Not everyone can pass this exam," she recalled thinking, perceiving it as an exclusive competition. She passed, as have thousands of other young women drawn to Cofertility’s compelling promise.

The company’s mantra, frequently articulated by its public face and CEO, Lauren Makler, a former Uber employee, is: "The best time to freeze your eggs is when you can least afford it." This philosophy underpins Cofertility’s mission: to enable women like Sue, who had just completed her master’s degree in classical music and was embarking on a second bachelor’s, to safeguard their future fertility without incurring any financial burden.

However, in the United States, healthcare is rarely truly free. Instead of paying the estimated $18,000 for egg freezing and storage in New York City, where Sue resides, she would use a resource she possessed in abundance: her eggs. Cofertility’s model, known as egg sharing, mandates that clients "donate half of the eggs retrieved to intended parents that need the help of an egg donor to have a baby." This commercialization of egg sharing was not widespread in the US until the Los Angeles-based Cofertility launched in 2022, branding itself as "a new kind of human-centered fertility ecosystem."

Sue meticulously navigated Cofertility’s website, an interface characterized by deep, calming teal, optimistic light green, steady purple, and urgent orange text boxes. After passing the initial test, she was promptly invited to a meeting and, within days, found herself video chatting with an enthusiastic employee. The representative effusively praised Sue for making a responsible choice for her future while simultaneously fulfilling the dreams of a desiring family. Spotting a piano in the background of Sue’s Zoom call, the Cofertility employee inquired if she could record Sue playing, suggesting it would be an enticing detail for prospective parents seeking the eggs of a "piano prodigy."

Sue found the suggestion absurd. Her instrument is the viola, not the piano, a fact clearly stated in her file. She declined, recalling the saleswoman’s evident disappointment. The interaction struck Sue as "weird," an unsettling blend of overeagerness and saccharine promotion. Yet, her curiosity about the booming fertility care business, which targets young women who may not need the service for years, if ever, was piqued. On July 29, 2025, Sue signed a contract with Cofertility.

The ancient societal pressure to reproduce has been reframed as a "biohacking imperative" cloaked in a feminist narrative. Career-focused young women, with no immediate plans for motherhood and no clear medical reason to doubt their fertility, are increasingly swayed by the message that to secure their primal right to procreate, action must be taken now. Lauren Makler, Cofertility’s CEO, cited a survey by a network of California fertility clinics last year, stating, "Three in five Gen Z women are concerned about their fertility." The oldest members of Generation Z are nearing 30.

Mona, a donor-freezer pseudonymously identified, was 25 when she applied to Cofertility. Having recently read The Defining Decade, a book emphasizing the profound impact of decisions made in one’s twenties, Mona was attuned to fertility as a critical life area. Discovering Cofertility online, she appreciated the company’s portrayal of fertility as something within her control.

Control is a highly sought-after commodity in the rapidly expanding fertility market, where venture capital has invested heavily in startups offering AI-powered conception-probability calculators or money-back guarantees for frozen eggs that "do not result in a live birth." Established clinics and national chains advertise monthly payment plans, only to be acquired by private equity firms. While these ventures typically involve direct cash payments for egg freezing, Cofertility, which secured $16 million in Series A funding last year, offers a distinctive approach.

In traditional cash-pay egg-freezing models, clients, who tend to be older, work directly with their doctors and clinics, maintaining the privacy of their medical information under HIPAA regulations. However, Cofertility operates as a middleman, not a medical provider. It offsets the cost of egg freezing by marketing donor profiles to aspiring parents, showcasing details such as height, weight, racial background, family medical history, and self-administered aptitude ratings. One intended parent likened the experience to "Tinder," where one swipes through profiles to envision a future defined by those genetic traits.

Cofertility’s egg-sharing initiative, known as Split, is accessible to women aged 21 to 33 who meet specific biological criteria. The company further divides Split into two models: Fresh and Frozen. Mona chose the Fresh model, while Sue opted for the newer Frozen model. With the Frozen model, donor-freezers "cycle first, match later," as Cofertility explains. The company covers the costs of medical and psychological screening, hormonal stimulation, and typically two retrieval cycles, recouping these expenses by selling eggs from the first batch to intended parents.

The Fresh model is Cofertility’s flagship program, requiring only one cycle, where donor-freezers are matched with intended parents before the retrieval. Mona was matched with a couple, Alexis and Greg, who "adored her to no end," as Alexis described. They met once via Zoom and felt a potential for friendship, with Cofertility mediating all communications.

Intended parents in the Fresh model bear the initial financial burden, covering hormonal medications—which a donor self-injects for up to two weeks before retrieval—as well as genetic testing and psychological screening to ensure a suitable match. Parents receive an estimated number of potential eggs based on the donor’s anti-Müllerian hormone (AMH) levels, a common indicator of ovarian reserve. Doctors then monitor the growth of the donor’s ovarian follicles, the fluid-filled sacs containing maturing eggs.

However, the precise number of eggs is only known after retrieval. During the procedure, a doctor uses a transvaginally inserted needle on a wand to puncture each follicle, aspirating the fluid stimulated by the hormone regimen. While more hormone-engorged sacs mean more eggs, it also increases the risk of ovarian torsion—a condition where an overly plump ovary twists, cutting off its own blood supply. Mona recalled Cofertility’s assurance that she could withdraw at any point before her final hormone injection. Yet, the type of severe ovarian overreaction that might necessitate canceling a cycle could also lead to an emergency room visit and potentially the loss of an ovary. (An earlier donor contract stipulated that donors would cover their own medical costs in such scenarios, a provision Cofertility states has since been removed.)

On Cofertility’s Instagram, women are depicted hiking, swimming, and "manifesting" career milestones, all while self-administering "super easy" hormone injections. If the process unfolds as planned, the retrieved eggs are divided equally between the donor and the paying party. In cases of an odd number of eggs, the party funding the cycle receives the extra. Intended parents often fertilize and implant fresh eggs immediately. The donor’s share is typically cryopreserved for up to 10 years, with the beneficiaries covering storage costs.

Cofertility donors channel their blood work and other medical updates through "member advocates"—company liaisons. Sue maintained almost constant contact with her advocate, a young woman whose effusive, smiley-face-laden correspondence struck Sue as overly saccharine for a transactional relationship. At one point, her advocate suggested a Cofertility staffer attend one of Sue’s medical appointments to capture new photos for her donor profile, prompting Sue to question how she was being marketed and what was deemed inadequate about her existing photos.

Sue underwent her first egg retrieval on September 17, 2025, yielding an impressive 26 mature eggs. All of these became Cofertility’s merchandise, available for sale to intended parents. Upon returning home, Sue received what she described as "a very, very, very cheap flower" from Cofertility, accompanied by a note thanking her for her donation, which she found underwhelming.

Post-retrieval symptoms for Sue were akin to an amplified menstrual period—a period of intense pain, bleeding, and sluggishness that made mounting an argument difficult. While still recovering, her member advocate called, inquiring about scheduling her next retrieval, which would be for the batch of eggs Sue would keep.

Sue’s contract stipulated the second retrieval within a year of the first. She proposed six months, perhaps in March, to allow for recovery and focus on her studies. This suggestion, Sue recalled, made her member advocate "very upset." The company hoped Sue would be ready sooner, ideally by November. A promotional post on Cofertility’s website by medical adviser Dr. Meera Shah suggested some donors might be ready after one menstrual cycle, while others may require a longer waiting period, advising donors to "get input from your doctor and also listen to your body’s signals."

Sue felt November was too soon. She was also bothered by two other issues: she couldn’t view her own donor profile, encountering an "Oops! Something went wrong" message on a teal banner, and Cofertility’s "attitude changed a lot," particularly over the phone. The company, whose initial warmth she had found stifling, now seemed clipped, cold, and strictly business. Sue felt she was no longer a priority, especially for a second cycle that wouldn’t directly generate profit for Cofertility.

Her member advocate did not respond to an interview request. A Cofertility spokesperson stated that "the care a donor receives for a cycle has nothing to do with whether the eggs are being donated or kept," and while subsequent cycles can be faster, it’s due to "familiarity, not pressure."

Wanting to complete the program, Sue acceded to her advocate’s suggestion and scheduled her second retrieval for November 18. Yet, her suspicions persisted. As she recovered from the first procedure, she devised a plan to learn more about the company to which she had entrusted her genetic material. "If I say four retrievals," Sue wondered, "what would their reaction be?" She proceeded to ask for four cycles, offering the first two batches to Cofertility and keeping the third and fourth for herself. The company agreed. "Ah," Sue recalled with satisfaction, "they become warm again."

Cofertility’s pitch might appear less compelling with a deeper understanding of how egg freezing, fertilization, and conception truly function. According to Eve Feinberg, a reproductive endocrinology specialist at Northwestern’s medical school, with Cofertility’s Fresh split model, "the egg donor is not going to be able to have the best likelihood of having a live birth from half a cycle."

While theoretically only one egg is needed for a baby, the journey from egg to live birth is fraught with challenges. Human eggs are fragile, single cells. The hormone regimen, designed to stimulate the growth of dozens of eggs, subverts their natural monthly deployment. Many eggs may not fully mature, rendering them reproductively useless. Others may carry genetic abnormalities, detectable only after attempted fertilization. Some may not survive the freezing process. This attrition—often described as an inverted pyramid from egg to embryo to fetus to baby—means that when Cofertility donors relinquish half their frozen eggs, they cannot be certain their best chances haven’t been given away. Fertility experts emphasize Cofertility’s obligation to clearly explain that their service does not offer the same benefits as a cash-paid cycle where all eggs are retained. Mona, despite praising the company’s medical coordination, admitted, "I don’t think they drove hard on how low the probability is, to be honest. Maybe that would be something that they could have done a little bit better."

None of the three donor-freezers interviewed for this story—one of whom was rejected due to low AMH—recalled receiving explicit counseling on how splitting cycles could diminish their future chances of using their own eggs. Similarly, three sets of intended parents, who spent thousands without conceiving a baby, reported no such counseling. When posed to two additional donor-freezers arranged by Cofertility for interviews, one was "pretty sure" it was clarified, while the other said "no," before a spokesperson interjected, "It was likely in your informed consent call with the Cofertility team."

In a statement to WIRED, Cofertility noted that their donors, required to have higher ovarian reserves, yield an average of 24 eggs, meaning 12 are retained per Split cycle. "Research supports that 12 frozen eggs from an egg donor is a solid start towards a live birth, on average," a spokesperson asserted, adding that initial intake discussions "have evolved over time" and vary based on a donor’s perceived familiarity with the process.

Beyond efficacy, medical risks are a concern. "Egg freezing is a low-risk (but not no risk) procedure," states another Cofertility guide authored by Dr. Shah. Most complications, she reassures readers, relate to ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome (OHSS), where the body overreacts to hormones, causing swollen blood vessels around the ovaries to leak fluid into the abdomen. Severe OHSS can necessitate hospitalization for fluid drainage or cause blood clots, risking heart attack or stroke.

Shah cites a statistic of 0.1 to 2 percent for severe OHSS, a common industry figure. However, comprehensive data on egg donors’ and freezers’ long-term health outcomes is incomplete, as milder cases often resolve without documentation. A Fertility & Sterility cross-sectional study found 10.5 percent of donors reported OHSS. The Arizona State University’s Embryo Project Encyclopedia suggests up to a third of individuals undergoing fertility treatment experience some degree of the syndrome, which is more prevalent in younger patients with naturally higher hormone levels. (Sue reported symptoms consistent with mild OHSS after her second cycle but did not seek a diagnosis.)

Even without complications, the procedure is physically demanding. Lydia Hughes, who recently completed her residency at Northwestern and, with Dr. Feinberg, has criticized Cofertility’s model, stated, "When we have patients [in their twenties] in our clinic that come to us about freezing eggs, we actually counsel them against it." While fertility naturally declines with age—a 25-year-old typically produces more high-quality eggs than a 35-year-old—many conceive successfully beyond the "optimal" range. The industry often benefits from convincing women they are closer to a "fertility cliff" than they are. Egg freezing, while marketed to younger women as a commodity, is considered most medically successful when used later to achieve pregnancy. Women within Cofertility’s "best time to freeze" age bracket are less likely to require their frozen eggs than older individuals, especially if they’ve passed donor hormone screenings. Furthermore, their "free" storage typically expires in a decade, often by their mid-thirties.

The egg-freezing industry’s marketing frames the service as another milestone in a gamified quest to "have it all." It capitalizes on the cautionary tale of "old feminists" who prioritized careers over motherhood, only to find themselves infertile at 45. The implicit message is that modern women can avoid this fate by being "empowered" to preempt the march of time. The author herself, at 28, two years ago, was bombarded with targeted ads and considered "free" egg freezing before questioning who truly benefited.

This marketing, heavy on "empowerment," might actually represent what bioethicist Emily Packard Dawson of the University of Pennsylvania calls a "constrained choice," where decision-making is limited by circumstances. "Empowerment implies that you are making a choice with full genuine autonomy," Dawson explains, "but if you are making a choice to freeze your eggs because day care is so expensive and you have heavy student loan debt and you just need to push off to a different time, is that empowering?" Cofertility’s spokesperson counters, "Most important to remember, is that the alternative of a split cycle is a full cycle donors pay for themselves, which is often not a realistic option."

Shortly after Sue enrolled in the program, an intended parent registered with Cofertility under the pseudonym "Yang." When prompted for donor preferences, Yang specified "Asian." Yang could then log in to Cofertility’s website and browse profiles like an online shopper. The website’s aesthetic was praised by another intended parent, who contrasted it with the "1990s" look of an agency she later used. Yang saw photos of potential donors as smiling babies in gingham dresses, and as adults in military fatigues. Profiles displayed East Asian donors, as requested, but also those of pure German, pure Ugandan, or French-Peruvian descent. Details like breast augmentation, an anorexic half-sister, or a "heavyset" parent were included. Height and weight allowed for easy BMI calculation. Profiles also featured a military commander, a deputy district attorney, and a probation officer for children. An orange "HOLD MATCH" button allowed Yang to reserve a preferred donor’s gametes, signaling Cofertility to set aside genetic material.

This detailed profiling is not unique to Cofertility or even egg donation, with sperm donor banks offering similar profiles. Dawson notes that the industry often markets "an ideal donor, a perfect donor, often based on physical characteristics, education, athletic ability, artistic talents." While no one explicitly uses the term "eugenics," she adds, "when you take those choices across thousands of intended parents and a multibillion-dollar industry, it gets really complicated really quickly."

For Cofertility clients, the urgency of "free" egg freezing might override concerns about becoming a donor, until it’s too late. Sue had willingly provided extensive biological and biographical data to Cofertility. In a later dossier documenting her concerns, she wrote that the platform collects "genetic lineage, psychological profiling responses, family medical history, and intergenerational information" from a vast pool of applicants, many of whom never become donors. (Of the "hundreds of thousands" of initial candidates, Makler states "less than 5 percent of applicants ultimately complete a donation cycle," aligning with industry standards.) Sue contended that this data classification "approaches commercialized eugenics"—a framing the company rejects. She was also troubled by the company’s requirement for donors to affirm their sound mind.

Midway between Sue’s first and second retrievals, she signed a rider to her contract. Her discomfort with Cofertility’s emotional marketing had intensified, yet it fueled her investigative drive. She agreed to grant Cofertility full ownership of eggs from cycles one and two, reserving her share for cycles three and four. (An exception was made: if one of the first two batches yielded six eggs or fewer, those would go to Sue, allowing Cofertility a larger, more profitable batch later.) If she were deemed medically unable to proceed, any remaining eggs would be split 50/50.

A central tenet of Cofertility’s rationale is its belief that cash compensation for egg donation is unethical, coercive, and "icky," as Makler describes it. They champion the gamete-exchange model as a more benevolent alternative: intended parents get a baby, and donors get the prospect of a future baby. However, most experts dismiss this distinction, viewing the provision of medical care as a form of compensation.

And someone undeniably earns cash. While Cofertility claims it’s not yet profitable, a commercial industry thrives by "recruiting people who will bear the burdens and matching them to people who will receive the benefits," Dawson observes. "The industry only benefits."

To Dr. Feinberg, Cofertility’s model is problematic because it undervalues the donor’s "product." Compensation rates for egg donors vary widely, but five-figure payouts, sometimes reaching six figures, are not uncommon. At Feinberg’s clinic, the comprehensive cost of egg freezing, including medication, typically ranges from $10,000 to $13,000.

Anthropologist Diane Tober, author of the forthcoming 2025 book Eggonomics, which exposes hidden injustices in the egg-donation industry, argues the situation is even more complex. Tober highlights how the means of production in the modern gamete market are skewed by sex: one group of workers endures hormonal disruption, extreme egg stimulation requiring surgery, and recovery; the other experiences nothing beyond a "mild humiliation ritual." Within the former group, further stratification exists. Tober’s research, analyzing 551 self-reported egg donors (over three-quarters white), revealed massive disparities in high-end compensation. The highest reported payout for a Black donor was $12,000; for a Hispanic donor, $21,000; and for an Asian or white donor, $100,000. She even found an outlier outside her study: a Chinese American Ivy League student offered $250,000 for her eggs.

These astronomical sums are typically reserved for "elite" donors. In this context, Cofertility’s model could be seen as more equitable, as all its donors receive roughly the same payout, regardless of race, class, or geography, thereby avoiding "surge pricing for eggs"—a practice Makler deems deeply unethical.

Yet, Cofertility markets its own "elite selection process," attracting affluent parents with headlines such as "How to Find an Ivy League Egg Donor." In a personal email to "Yang," who hadn’t yet selected a match, CEO Makler introduced herself and promoted a donor described as "a data scientist with a master’s from a Top 50 university, aiming to transition into AI engineering and launch her own VC fund one day." This donor had 17 eggs available, priced in cohorts: eight for $28,000, nine for $31,500, or all 17 for $52,700—not a single penny of which would go to the donor. Makler urged, "Our frozen donors match quickly, so if she is of interest, I’d suggest placing a hold on the match at the top of her profile."

When Yang did not respond, Makler followed up three days later, noting the previously mentioned donor was of Vietnamese descent and introducing two additional Chinese donors. She also highlighted Cofertility’s "embryo guarantee." Cohorts of eight or nine eggs came with one guaranteed embryo; 10 or 12 guaranteed two; and 17 eggs guaranteed three. One donor offered 22 eggs, promising "4 embryos guaranteed" if Yang purchased the entire set.

This "embryo guarantee" proved a source of frustration for the intended parents interviewed. Cofertility’s website states, "if anything outside your control prevents you from reaching the minimum number of embryos you’re guaranteed, we’ll rematch you for free." Intended parents could receive "up to two free rematches over two years," with the number of guaranteed embryos varying by agreement.

Again, the word "free" appears. In addition to the per-egg price for frozen cycles or the medical bills for fresh cycles, Cofertility charges a $500 "match initiation fee" and, for fresh egg parents, a $10,000 "cycle coordination fee." If a match fails, intended parents can apply most of what they paid Cofertility to a replacement donor, but they must restart with new medical and third-party fees.

This was the predicament faced by Greg and Alexis, the intended parents matched with Mona. Mona, whose work often required travel, had informed Cofertility that she would need two months’ notice before her cycle. She also intermittently used low doses of an SSRI, which the clinic advised she would need to discontinue. Mona recalled assuring them this wouldn’t be an issue.

Alexis and Greg were aware of Mona’s medication and were not concerned. Their worry centered on the timeline, as Alexis, nearing 40, feared for her ability to carry a pregnancy. After several months of delay, they pressed Cofertility for updates. They were informed that after "weaning" off the drug, Mona "could not handle it whatsoever."

Mona was shocked. She had stopped her medication without difficulty, she explained, even leaving pills in the bottle. She was also unaware of any urgency, having never received the two-month warning she had requested. Alexis, conversely, had never been told that Mona required a heads-up.

When Alexis and Mona discussed their Cofertility experience together, more inconsistencies emerged. Alexis remembered a Cofertility employee stating that Mona claimed "she had to do what’s best for her, and she understands it’s going to break the match." Mona, hearing this, wiped away tears, asserting, "I literally was never told that this match was gonna end or anything."

"It seems like a very bad game of telephone," Mona concluded, believing Cofertility had made false assumptions and clumsily filled communication gaps between parties. Alexis was more incensed, having recovered her initial matching fees but losing thousands more in medical expenses.

After Greg and Alexis moved on, Mona was transferred to Cofertility’s frozen program. Though no longer matched, she found comfort in believing her profile information would be presented to potential parents as she intended—highlighting her identity as a queer donor who sometimes took SSRIs.

However, after her retrieval, she couldn’t verify this. Attempting to view her profile, she encountered the same "Oops!" page Sue had. Upon eventually emailing Cofertility, she discovered she had been matched months earlier, but the couple had already fertilized the eggs by the time she was informed. Three embryos were awaiting implantation. "I just believed what they’re saying is true," she reflected. "I feel kind of silly."

Sue’s desire to understand how she was being marketed, and to whom, led her to create the "Yang" persona. Yang was never a real person; it was Sue herself, in disguise.

A day after Sue’s second retrieval—which yielded 27 eggs—she opened Yang’s inbox. There, she found an email from a Cofertility employee promoting a new donor who "has Chinese heritage on both sides." The employee described Sue: "She’s a professional musician who is also pursuing international relations and multilingual studies while training with ROTC—a combination that really reflects her discipline, curiosity, and sense of purpose." The email concluded, "We believe she’ll match very quickly. I’d recommend placing a hold on her profile."

According to Cofertility’s fee schedule, the entire batch of Sue’s eggs would cost intended parents a substantial $83,700. While prices don’t