Forever Chemicals: The Toxic Guests That Never Leave

They sound like the title of a Bond film that never made it past the planning stage: Forever Chemicals. Sinister, slippery, and impossible to get rid of, like that guest who came for the weekend and stayed until your next birthday. But these aren’t fictional villains. They’re real. They’re in your blood, your water, your frying pan, your waterproof jacket, your mascara, and possibly even in the air right now. That’s not paranoia talking. That’s chemistry.

The official name is PFAS, which stands for per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances. Not very catchy. It sounds like a scrabble-winning sneeze. But these little alphabet nightmares are man-made chemicals developed back in the 1940s, because humans were bored with nature and thought it would be a laugh to create compounds that neither burn, rust, rot nor decompose. Imagine being so good at chemistry that you invent a molecule that just won’t die. Forever chemicals, indeed.

Back then, they were a scientific marvel. Scientists marvelled. Industry licked its lips. These chemicals were fireproof, stain-resistant, water-repellent, and could cook eggs without sticking. Welcome to the shiny world of non-stick pans and Teflon-coated everything. Your raincoat? PFAS. That carpet that doesn’t mind red wine? PFAS. That fast-food wrapper that doesn’t turn into a grease sponge? You guessed it.

But here’s the twist. While we were all celebrating how brilliantly clean our sofas were and how our chips didn’t soak through the paper, PFAS were quietly slipping into our environment. They leach. They float. They travel. They bioaccumulate. That’s a fancy way of saying they climb the food chain like chemical mountaineers. And once they’re in, they stay in. Like glitter. Or glittery regret.

Fast forward to the 21st century and scientists have sobered up a little. The question, “Where are the PFAS?” is now answered with a long, exasperated sigh: everywhere. Arctic ice? Yep. Deep sea fish? Sure. Umbilical cords? Sadly, yes. Human bloodstreams? Check.

Now, here’s where things get charmingly bureaucratic. Regulators are still trying to catch up, scratching their heads while sipping from PFAS-laced coffee cups. For decades, the production and use of PFAS outpaced research and oversight. It wasn’t until quite recently that people started to wonder if it was entirely healthy to saturate the planet with eternal fluorinated chains. You think?

Some of these chemicals have been linked to a delightful range of health issues: hormone disruption, immune system havoc, reduced vaccine response (cheers for that one), developmental delays, and an increased risk of certain cancers. But proving causation in chemical exposure is trickier than teaching a raccoon to ride a bike. So the studies roll in, the lawsuits pile up, and industry lawyers get very busy.

You might remember the darkly comic case of DuPont, immortalised in the film Dark Waters. A West Virginian farmer noticed his cows were dying in horrible, oozing ways after drinking water downstream from a chemical plant. Not a one-off. The PFAS being dumped had made it into local water supplies, and eventually, human bodies. Lawsuits followed. Damages were paid. A moral lesson was learned, briefly, before business carried on as usual.

Since then, the term “forever chemicals” has become something of a media darling, largely because it sounds cool and terrifying. The EU has gotten especially twitchy about them, proposing a near-total ban on over 10,000 variants. The Americans, ever fond of a loophole, have made some noises and set some limits, depending on the zip code and the political climate.

Here in the UK, we’ve been somewhat nonchalant, gently nudging at regulations like someone trying to get out of a bad dinner date without causing offence. DEFRA and the Environment Agency have made some efforts to measure PFAS levels, mostly in rivers and drinking water. Results? Comfortingly vague. PFAS are present in many sites, but “not yet at levels of concern.” Which is a bit like saying there’s only a little plutonium in your soup.

Of course, PFAS aren’t just one chemical. They’re a family. A very large, complicated, and dysfunctional family. Think of them as the Kardashians of the chemical world, only more invasive and less likely to have their own perfume line (although, who knows? Eau de Fluoride might sell). There are thousands of PFAS compounds, many of which haven’t been studied properly, let alone regulated.

Manufacturers, never ones to sit still when profit is involved, have shifted to so-called “short-chain” PFAS, arguing these are safer. Unfortunately, while they leave the body faster, they’re still quite good at sticking around in water and soil. It’s like switching from wasps to slightly smaller wasps and claiming you’ve solved the insect problem.

The disposal situation is where it really gets creative. You can’t just toss PFAS in the bin. Incinerating them can release toxic gases. Landfilling means they leach. Recycling plastics containing PFAS risks spreading them further. So we’re essentially trapped in a game of chemical hot potato with no safe place to put the potato. Brilliant.

One of the more infuriating things about PFAS is that their usefulness is undeniable. They really are magic materials. The military loves them for firefighting foams. Electronics manufacturers adore their heat resistance. Medical devices benefit from their durability. And there lies the paradox: PFAS have improved lives. They’ve saved lives. But they’ve also become an eternal presence, haunting water systems and cellular structures long after the benefits have passed.

Public pressure is rising, of course. Green campaigners and environmental watchdogs have started referring to PFAS as the new asbestos. Not because of the same diseases, but because of that same slow-motion horror as we realise, decades too late, what we’ve done. The tragedy of the long game. By the time it’s regulated, it’s too late.

Some supermarkets in Europe are taking a stand. Lidl in Germany and Coop in Denmark have both announced plans to phase out food packaging with PFAS. Which is a bit like banning glitter from a kid’s birthday party. Useful, symbolic, but just the tip of the sticky iceberg. Meanwhile, brands in cosmetics and outdoor gear have started advertising their products as PFAS-free, which sounds reassuring until you realise it’s about as meaningful as a sugar-free cola in a world full of sugary lollipops.

The real question is: can we clean this mess up? That depends on your faith in science and your patience level. Scientists are experimenting with methods to break the carbon-fluorine bond—one of the strongest in chemistry—using techniques involving plasma, electrochemical reactions, and UV light. So far, it’s like trying to unbake a cake. Progress exists, but it’s costly, tricky, and mostly limited to lab settings. And in the meantime, rivers flow.

There’s something rather poetic in the idea of forever chemicals. We created them to resist time, decay, entropy. We succeeded a little too well. Nature usually eats everything we throw at it. It composts our ambitions and mulches our mistakes. But PFAS? These cheeky molecules just float on, chuckling, impervious to flame or fungus, laughing in the face of bacteria. In the future, aliens might visit Earth and find nothing left but cockroaches, plastic flamingos, and PFAS. Our most enduring legacy might be Teflon.

Still, the story’s not over. People are getting louder, scientists are getting smarter, and a few governments are waking up from their regulatory naps. It turns out that no one wants to live in a real-life dystopia where the rainwater is toxic and the fish glow faintly in the dark. Progress might be slow, but at least it’s wearing wellies.

So next time you fry an egg and it slides off the pan like a gymnast on ice, spare a thought for the marvel that made it happen. Then ask whether it was worth it. That breakfast came with a side of chemistry class and a whisper of existential crisis. Bon appétit.

And if someone ever offers you a PFAS-free raincoat, mascara, burger wrapper or frying pan, don’t be cynical. Take it. It might not save the world, but it’s a start. And frankly, we could all do with fewer forever guests in our bloodstream. Especially the kind that won’t leave, no matter how many polite hints we drop.