For millions of Americans, the pursuit of better health has become as much about technology as it is about diet or exercise. The latest Apple Watch, a staple on many wrists, costs a cool $429. Add in a basic Peloton Bike at $1,395 (plus a $49.99 monthly subscription), a WHOOP membership at $149 annually, and an Oura Ring for another $349, and suddenly, the price of entry into the world of high-tech wellness can easily soar into the thousands. For some, these numbers are a minor investment in their well-being. For countless others, they are simply out of reach.
This digital health divide—where access to technology shapes access to care—isn’t new, but it’s getting more pronounced. As Amy Gonzales, an associate professor at UC Santa Barbara, told Time, “In many ways, access to healthcare means access to technology.” Since the COVID-19 pandemic, healthcare has leaned heavily on digital tools: patient portals, appointment apps, prescription managers, and telehealth visits. But these tools demand digital literacy and reliable internet access—resources not everyone has.
Seniors may struggle with smartphone interfaces. Low-income families might rely on shared devices or limited data. People with disabilities may find standard health apps difficult or impossible to use. Gonzales points out that, ironically, the groups most likely to face these barriers are often the very people who need healthcare the most. It’s a compounding problem: the less access you have, the more you’re left behind.
Enter fitness trackers and wearables. Once seen as optional gadgets for the tech-obsessed, they’ve become cultural markers of health—and, increasingly, tools that provide useful health information. Devices like Fitbits, Apple Watches, and Oura Rings monitor heart rate, blood oxygen, sleep stages, stress, and more. According to Time, studies show these wearables can detect abnormal heart rhythms, nudge users toward more activity, and even provide early warnings of illness. Insurance companies offer discounts for those willing to share their tracking data, and some employers now include wearables in their wellness programs.
But there’s a catch. As Gonzales notes, “The digital divide is even more problematic with ‘bonus devices,’ or health ‘accoutrements,’ like smart wearables.” In other words, the gap between those who can afford these devices and those who can’t is only widening. A person with an Apple Watch gets daily health reports, alerts about irregular heartbeats, and data they can share with a doctor. Someone without? They’re left with subjective assessments and whatever their doctor can glean during periodic visits. Imagine two people with similar heart risks: one gets an alert and seeks treatment, the other doesn’t know until it’s too late. Both deserved that warning, but only one could afford the device that gave it.
This two-tiered system doesn’t just affect individuals. As more affluent people adopt wearables and share data with healthcare providers, the very research that guides medicine may become skewed toward the experiences of those who can afford comprehensive self-monitoring. If studies increasingly rely on wearable data, but that data mostly comes from wealthier, more educated users, the resulting insights may not apply equally to all.
Yet, access isn’t the only issue. “There’s this implicit assumption that wearables are inherently good,” Gonzales cautions. Privacy risks abound. The healthcare industry’s history with marginalized communities—think the Tuskegee syphilis study or forced sterilizations—has fostered deep skepticism about sharing personal data. “Given the history of experimentation and exploitation of certain low-income populations, there’s a natural distrust in these sub-groups,” she says. For some, opting out of health tech isn’t about affordability; it’s a rational choice to avoid further surveillance or exploitation.
It’s a complex picture: the same communities that could benefit most from health monitoring tech may also have the strongest reasons to avoid it. Data privacy protections remain inconsistent, and no one quite knows the long-term consequences of letting corporations collect detailed biometric data. For many, the old-fashioned approach—seeing a trusted doctor, keeping health private—feels safer.
Budget-friendly fitness trackers do exist, but even the cheapest options are a stretch for families choosing between groceries and gadgets. The problem, experts say, can’t be solved by individual purchases or the occasional corporate discount. It’s rooted in larger issues of healthcare access, digital equity, and what society considers “essential” for health. Glucose monitors or blood pressure cuffs might be covered as medical equipment, but an Oura Ring is still a luxury.
Meanwhile, some innovators are trying to bridge the gap. In Sidney, Ohio, sisters Lisa Marino and Erin Hazelbaker founded Victress Health and Wellness LLC in 2017, aiming to make high-quality care more accessible. Marino, a former physical therapist, was frustrated by a system that “valued sick care rather than incentivizing true wellness.” Hazelbaker, herself a home health physical therapist, joined in 2020, tackling challenges like medical debt, rising insurance costs, and chronic disease risks.
Victress operates a full-service clinic offering primary care, physical and occupational therapy, nutrition, functional medicine, and in-house labs. What sets it apart is its direct primary care model: patients (or employers) pay a fixed monthly fee for services, which include 24/7 telehealth, same or next-day appointments, and longer visits at no extra charge. According to the Dayton Business Journal, this approach helped drive over $1.3 million in healthcare savings for regional employers in 2024, with new employers saving an average of $6,800 per employee in January 2025.
The sisters’ efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. Victress was nominated for the Health Rosetta Rosie Awards for Best Health Plans in America in 2024 and 2025. Marino and Hazelbaker also regularly educate the community, speaking to local employers and uplifting employees who previously had little hope of reversing chronic disease. Hazelbaker, who created the Victress tagline “We build the ideal,” is passionate about not just treating illness but also rethinking how care is paid for, how communities share costs, and how providers maintain work-life balance.
Victress’s story is a reminder that solutions exist, even if they’re not yet widespread. But the larger challenge remains: as health technology continues to advance, offering ever more sophisticated monitoring and insights, the risk is that it will deepen, not bridge, the gap between the haves and have-nots. As Gonzales puts it, “the people who struggle with [healthcare] are often the same people who need [technology] the most.”
Ultimately, the Apple Watch on your wrist—or lack thereof—may feel like a personal choice. But when multiplied across millions, these choices create new hierarchies of health and knowledge. Technology once promised to democratize health information, but unless access and trust are addressed, it may just create new barriers for those who need help the most.
