You clicked to read about Alan and got slapped in the face with a wall of cookies and Yahoo Finance's privacy policy. Ironic, right? A digital health company being covered by a portal that treats your personal data like it's an all-you-can-eat buffet at a steakhouse.
But let's get to the point.
The Raw Facts
Alan, the French insurtech for health insurance, just raised $115 million in a funding round. With that, the company's valuation crossed the $5.7 billion mark.
For those who don't know: Alan was born in 2016 with the pitch of being the "anti-health-insurance." Clean interface, no red tape, fully digital, none of that hellish experience of calling customer service and spending 40 minutes listening to hold music. It operates in France, Spain, and Belgium. It covers more than 700,000 members, mostly through employer plans.
The fresh cash came from investors like Belfius and others who were already in on the dance. It was a secondary round, which means part of the money went into the pockets of early shareholders looking to cash in some gains. An important detail most people gloss over.
The Billion-Dollar Valuation Circus
This is where my blood starts to boil.
$5.7 billion valuation. Let's put this in perspective: SulAmérica, before it got swallowed by Rede D'Or, was worth roughly the same — and that was an operation with decades of history, millions of beneficiaries, and, believe it or not, actual profit.
Alan? As far as public information goes, it's still operating in the red. They've promised breakeven. Everyone promises breakeven. Walter White also promised he'd stop cooking meth "just one more time."
I'm not saying Alan is a fraud. Far from it. The product looks solid. The proposition is legit. Digital health is a real trend, not some NFT fad. But there's a massive difference between "good company" and "company worth 5.7 billion dollars."
And that difference, my friend, is called cheap money and excess capital chasing a narrative.
Skin in the Game — Where Is It?
Taleb would say something simple: who's risking what?
When a venture capital fund drops $115 million into a company valued at nearly $6 billion, the risk is diluted across dozens of LPs (limited partners — the fund's investors). If it blows up, nobody loses their house. If it works out, the GPs (general partners — the folks running the fund) pocket their 20% carry and end up in Forbes.
Same old game: asymmetry of incentives. The people making the investment decision aren't the ones footing the bill if it goes south. This is the model that gave us WeWork, Theranos, and that lovely collection of unicorns that shriveled up and died after 2022.
Could Alan be different? Sure. But the structural pattern is the same.
What This Means for American Investors
Directly? Almost nothing. Alan isn't publicly listed. You can't buy its stock on the NYSE or anywhere else.
Indirectly? A lot.
First, it shows that risk appetite for European tech is back. After the bloodbath of 2022-2023, when fintech and insurtech valuations melted 50-70%, the money is returning — selectively, but returning.
Second, it raises a red flag: if private rounds are inflating again, it could be a sign that the exuberance cycle is restarting. And anyone who's studied history knows how these cycles end. Not with champagne.
Third, for anyone watching the health sector — whether it's U.S. players or global insurtech trends — Alan's model is worth studying. The digitization of health insurance is coming hard and fast everywhere. Those positioned early win. Those who sleep on it get to watch the movie from the sidelines.
The Question That Lingers
When a bunch of smart people pour a bunch of money into a company that still hasn't proven it can generate sustainable cash flow, you've got two possibilities: either they know something you don't, or they're all on the same confirmation-bias boat, clapping for each other while the tide rises.
The tide always goes out.
The question is: when it does, will Alan be swimming or will it be just another one caught naked on the beach?
Damn, I genuinely hope it's the first one. The world needs health insurance that sucks less. But rooting for someone isn't an investment thesis.
It never was.
