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“Do you ever think about electric cars?”

Between solar roofs, home batteries, and electric vehicles, Tesla could potentially “do more to fight climate change than any other company — perhaps any other entity — in the world,” Walter Isaacson muses in his much-anticipated biography of Elon Musk, out Tuesday.
But while the central character is at times painted as a heroic visionary (Isaacson’s previous subjects have included Steve Jobs, Einstein, and Leonardo da Vinci), the biography also makes it clear that Tesla’s mercurial CEO isn’t always the easiest to work with — or, in the blunter words of Bill Gates, he can be “super mean.” Here are some of the most surprising moments about climate and energy shared in Isaacson’s Elon Musk:
On Musk’s EV passion:
When Elon went with [Peter] Nicholson’s daughter, Christie, to a party one evening, his first question was “Do you ever think about electric cars?” As he later admitted, it was not the world’s best come-on line.
On education:
Musk also focused on electric cars. He and [his friend Robin] Ren would grab lunch from one of the food trucks and sit on the campus lawn, where Musk would read academic papers on batteries. California had just passed a requirement mandating that 10 percent of vehicles by 2003 had to be electric. “I want to go make that happen,” Musk said.
Musk also became convinced that solar power, which in 1994 was just taking off, was the best path toward sustainable energy. His senior paper was titled “The Importance of Being Solar.” He was motivated not just by the dangers of climate change but also by the fact that fossil fuel reserves would start to dwindle. “Society will soon have no option but to focus on renewable power sources,” he wrote. His final page showed a “power station of the future,” involving a satellite with mirrors that would concentrate sunlight onto solar panels and send the resulting electricity back to Earth via a microwave beam. The professor gave him a grade of 98, saying it was a “very interesting and well written paper, except the last figure that comes out of the blue.”
On investing in batteries:
Eager to keep the conversation going, [Tesla co-founder JB] Straubel changed the topic to his idea for building an electric vehicle using lithium-ion batteries. “I was looking for funding and being rather shameless,” he says. Musk expressed surprise when Straubel explained how good the batteries had become. “I was going to work on high-density energy storage at Stanford,” Musk told him. “I was trying to think of what would have the most effect on the world, and energy storage along with electric vehicles were high on my list.” His eyes lit up as he processed Straubel’s calculations. “Count me in,” he said, committing to provide $10,000 in funding.
On building the Gigafactory:
The idea that Musk proposed in 2013 was audacious: build a gigantic battery factory in the U.S. […] There was one problem, Straubel recalls. “We had no clue how to build a battery factory.”
So Musk and Straubel decided to pursue a partnership with their battery supplier, Panasonic […] Musk and Straubel were invited to Japan by Panasonic’s new young president Kazuhiro Tsuga. “It was a come-to-Jesus session where we had to make him truly commit that we were going to build the insane Gigafactory together,” Straubel says.
The dinner was a formal, multicourse affair at a traditional low-table Japanese restaurant. Straubel was fearful about how Musk would behave. “Elon can be so much hell and brimstone in meetings and just unpredictable as all get out,” he says. “But I’ve also seen him flip a switch and suddenly be this incredibly effective, charismatic, high-emotional-intelligence business person, when he has to do it.” At the Panasonic dinner, the charming Musk appeared. He sketched out his vision for moving the world to electric vehicles and why the two companies should do it together. “I was mildly shocked and impressed, because, whoa, this is not like how Elon usually was on other days,” says Straubel. “He’s a person who’s all over the map, and you don’t know what he’s going to say or do. And then, all of a sudden, he pulls it all together.”
On the origins of SolarCity:
“I want to start a new business,” Musk’s cousin Lyndon Rive said as they were driving in an RV to Burning Man, the annual art-and-tech rave in the Nevada desert, at the end of the summer of 2004. “One that can help humanity and address climate change.” “Get into the solar industry,” Musk replied. Lyndon recalls that the answer felt like “my marching orders.” With his brother Peter, he started work on creating a company that would become SolarCity. “Elon provided most of the initial funding,” Peter recalls. “He gave us one clear piece of guidance: get to a scale that would have an impact as fast as possible.”
On buying SolarCity:
When Musk announced the deal in June 2016, he called it a “no-brainer” that was “legally and morally correct.” The acquisition fit with his original “master plan” for Tesla, which he had written in 2006: “The overarching purpose of Tesla Motors is to help expedite the move from a mine-and-burn hydrocarbon economy towards a solar electric economy.”
On hating SolarCity:
The solar roof project caused enormous friction between Musk and his cousins. In August 2016, around the time he was teasing the new product, Peter Rive invited Musk to inspect a version that the company had installed on a customer’s roof. It was a standing-seam metal roof, meaning the solar cells were embedded in sheets of metal rather than tiles. When Musk drove up, Peter and fifteen people were standing in front of the house. “But as often happened,” Peter recalled, “Elon showed up late and then sat in the car looking at his phone while we all just waited very nervously for him to get out.” When he did, it was clear that he was furious. “This is shit,” Musk explained. “Total fucking shit. Horrible. What were you thinking?”
On really, really hating SolarCity:
There were four versions [of solar roofs], including those that looked like French slate and Tuscan barrel tiles, along with a house that featured the metal roof that Musk hated. When Musk visited two days before the scheduled event and saw the metal version, he erupted. “What part of ‘I fucking hate this product’ don’t you understand?” One of the engineers pushed back, saying it looked okay to him and that it was the easiest to install. Musk pulled Peter aside and told him, “I don’t think this guy should be on the team.” Peter fired the engineer and had the metal roof removed before the public event.
On cutting solar roof installation time:
[…] Musk clambered up a ladder to the peak of the roof, where he stood precariously. He was not happy. There were too many fasteners, he said. Each had to be nailed down, adding time to the installation process. “Instead of two nails for each foot, try it with only one,” he ordered. “If the house has a hurricane, the whole neighborhood is fucked up, so who cares? One nail is going to be fine.” Someone protested that could lead to leaks. “Don’t worry about making it as waterproof as a submarine,” he said. “My house in California used to leak. Somewhere between sieve and submarine should be okay.” For a moment he laughed before returning to his dark intensity.
On talking climate with Bill Gates:
“Hey, I’d love to come see you and talk about philanthropy and climate,” Bill Gates said to Musk when they happened to be at the same meeting in early 2022. Musk’s stock sales had led him, for tax reasons, to put $5.7 billion into a charitable fund he had established. Gates, who was then spending most of his time on philanthropy, had many suggestions he wanted to make. They’d had friendly interactions a few times in the past, including when Gates brought his son Rory to SpaceX. [...] Gates argued that batteries would never be able to power large semitrucks and that solar energy would not be a major part of solving the climate problem. “I showed him the numbers,” Gates says. “It’s an area where I clearly knew something that he didn’t.” He also gave Musk a hard time on Mars. “I’m not a Mars person,” Gates later told me. “He’s overboard on Mars. I let him explain his Mars thinking to me, which is kind of bizarre thinking. It’s this crazy thing where maybe there’s a nuclear war on Earth and so the people on Mars are there and they’ll come back down and, you know, be alive after we all kill each other.”
On dismissing climate philanthropy:
At the end of the tour, [Gates and Musk’s] conversation turned to philanthropy. Musk expressed his view that most of it was “bullshit.” There was only a twenty-cent impact for every dollar put in, he estimated. He could do more good for climate change by investing in Tesla.
On Bill Gates’ betrayal:
There was one contentious issue that [Bill Gates and Elon Musk] had to address. Gates had shorted Tesla stock, placing a big bet that it would go down in value […] Short-sellers occupied [Musk’s] innermost circle of hell. Gates said he was sorry, but that did not placate Musk. “I apologized to him,” Gates says. “Once he heard I’d shorted the stock, he was super mean to me, but he’s super mean to so many people, so you can’t take it too personally.”
[...] When I asked Gates why he had shorted Tesla, he explained that he had calculated that the supply of electric cars would get ahead of demand, causing prices to fall. I nodded but still had the same question: Why had he shorted the stock? Gates looked at me as if I had not understood what he just explained and then replied as if the answer was obvious: he thought that by shorting Tesla he could make money. That way of thinking was alien to Musk. He believed in the mission of moving the world to electric vehicles, and he put all of his available money toward that goal, even when it did not seem like a safe investment. “How can someone say they are passionate about fighting climate change and then do something that reduced the overall investment in the company doing the most?” he asked me a few days after Gates’s visit. “It’s pure hypocrisy. Why make money on the failure of a sustainable energy car company?”
On rejection:
Gates followed up in mid-April, sending Musk the promised paper on philanthropy options that he had personally written [...] “Sorry,” Musk shot back instantly. “I cannot take your philanthropy on climate seriously when you have a massive short position against Tesla, the company doing the most to solve climate change.” When angry, Musk can get mean, especially on Twitter. He tweeted a picture of Gates in a golf shirt with a bulging belly that made him look almost pregnant. “In case u need to lose a boner fast,” Musk’s comment read.
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Across the Global South, distributed energy is “leapfrogging a centralized grid,” Odyssey’s cofounder told Heatmap.
As old and increasingly strained as the U.S. electric grid is, Americans can still mostly count on it to keep the lights on. The average U.S. resident experiences just a few hours of power outages each year thanks to the country’s sprawling electricity distribution system. But that level of reliability is far from standard globally. Across parts of Africa, Asia, and South America, grids can be fragmented, undersupplied, and unreliable, forcing businesses to turn to expensive diesel generators for backup power — or even as their primary source of electricity when the grid can’t reliably reach them.
But as energy demand surges across the Global South, diesel prices rise with the ongoing Strait of Hormuz closure, and costs for solar and batteries continue to fall, the economics of energy in emerging markets are rapidly shifting. Commercial and industrial customers are increasingly turning to distributed solar as a reliable, affordable supplement — or alternative — to a conventional grid connection. The problem is that the small and midsize local companies capable of building these projects often lack the cash to purchase panels and batteries upfront. Equipment suppliers, meanwhile are often reluctant to extend them credit because they see the small businesses as too risky.
Odyssey Energy Solutions is built to solve that disconnect. Founded in 2017, the startup acts as a middleman between local installers and global capital providers that want exposure to developing markets but typically wouldn’t take the risk of financing small companies in unfamiliar environments. After raising a $15 million Series A in 2023, the company announced on Tuesday that it has closed a $74 million fundraising round — $27 million of equity, $47 million of debt — to expand its financing and procurement platform, deepen its presence in core markets such as Nigeria and India, and widen its business in Mexico and adjacent Latin American countries.
“It’s the same story as cell phones leapfrogging landlines,” Emily McAteer, Odyssey’s co-founder and CEO, told me. “It’s distributed energy leapfrogging a centralized grid.”
Today the company has about 6,000 commercial and industrial solar installers on its platform across more than 50 countries, and has facilitated over $3.6 billion in financing for distributed energy projects. Odyssey is planning to use its latest funding to expand beyond solar into other offerings, including financing batteries for electric two- and three-wheelers such as motorcycles and rickshaws, common modes of transit in many of its markets.
Whether it’s solar or motorcycles, Odyssey’s model works much the same way: The company places equipment orders on behalf of installers, letting them pay off the cost over time, after their own customers pay them first. While Odyssey places many small orders rather than large bulk orders with suppliers, its high transaction volume gives it significant purchasing power, allowing it to negotiate far better prices than a small business could. That lets Odyssey earn a margin on the equipment it sells while still offering installers a better deal than they would be able to secure independently.
For the installer, McAteer explained, it’s a pretty straightforward process, “You come to Odyssey’s procurement platform; you upload [the materials you need]. We come back, give you some options and good pricing on the [photovoltaic panels], the inverters, the batteries. You buy from us; you put a little bit down — a small deposit — and then the rest of the payment is due once you’ve gone and built your system, you’ve commissioned, and you’ve been paid by your client.”
Fronting that equipment cost requires significant debt on Odyssey’s own balance sheet. But because installers repay Odyssey once their projects are built, debt is a cheaper way to secure that working capital than equity, which is why it makes up the bulk of this latest funding round. McAteer says the company expects to raise another $50 million in debt over the next six months specifically to fund the extended payment terms it offers installers.
Working with thousands of these small and medium sized businesses also gives Odyssey another valuable asset: a wealth of data on their projects and performance over time. In 2021, the company acquired remote monitoring and controls startup Ferntech, giving it visibility into things like a solar project’s energy output and how customers are using that power. The data then feeds into Odyssey’s underwriting tools, giving prospective investors and lenders a way to evaluate which installers are creditworthy.
That matters because while Odyssey can help small businesses get equipment, these installers still require longer-term institutional capital from the likes of banks or development finance institutions to build their projects and support their ongoing operations. By giving capital providers a window into which installers are reliable and what projects perform well, Odyssey helps derisk the fragmented distributed energy market.
The company’s timing is certainly fortuitous. In Nigeria, one of Odyssey’s primary markets, the cost of diesel has risen over 93% in a matter of months this year due to supply disruptions in the Middle East. That’s thrown the country’s energy markets into disarray, as the country spends roughly three times as much on power from backup diesel generators as it does on grid electricity.
“There is more diesel generator capacity than there are power plants connected to the grid,” McAteer said of Nigeria. “So you already have distributed energy resources — just not renewable resources — powering the grid.” The near doubling of diesel prices has made solar and storage more compelling than ever for the country and the continent as a whole. Governments in many African countries are already offering cash incentives to distributed energy developers once their projects are up and running as part of a broader electrification push backed by a $30 billion joint commitment between the World Bank and the African Development Bank.
India, another core market for Odyssey, has also set ambitious clean electricity goals, aiming to install 500 gigawatts of non-fossil capacity by 2030, while also requiring solar cells to be manufactured domestically. At the same time, the country’s booming data center buildout is poised to drive up electricity demand, putting strain on an already unreliable grid that also depends on backup diesel power. Together, these trends are fueling a solar surge in the country — a wave that Odyssey wants to capture. India is now on track to become the world’s second largest solar market by annual installations this year, according to BloombergNEF — overtaking the U.S. and trailing only China.
“Pretty much in any market where we work, there’s just a lot happening that’s all converging around distributed energy as the future,” McAteer told me. If she’s right, some of the nations with the world’s weakest grids could be the ones best positioned to build what comes next.
A bill awaiting Governor Gavin Newsom’s signature would require utilities to at least offer to subsidize home electrification.
Going into this final stretch of the summer, I’m keeping an eye on California. Today is the last day for the state legislature to pass bills as part of its 2026 session, and lawmakers have already sent some interesting clean energy proposals to Governor Gavin Newsom’s desk.
On Friday, the legislature passed the Home Energy Choice Act, a bill supporting the transition to all-electric homes in the state, which builds on a growing set of policies and programs I’ve been writing about called “non-pipeline alternatives.”
Natural gas companies are constantly replacing and expanding the pipelines that deliver gas to people’s homes, but these kinds of investments are starting to look less prudent in states that are trying to transition off of fossil fuels. Utilities recover the costs of pipelines over decades through the rates their customers pay; but as people start to electrify their homes, there will be fewer customers to absorb those expenses, risking ballooning energy bills. Non-pipeline alternative programs typically require utilities to consider options for deferring or even avoiding these investments.
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Several states have created pilot programs that enable utilities to take the money they would have spent replacing an aging pipeline and instead use it to help customers go electric. Two years ago, California lawmakers authorized such a pilot focused on decarbonizing entire neighborhoods, but the implementation has been slow. The deadline for utilities to submit proposals for the first round of pilot projects isn’t until next April.
The Home Energy Choice Act would complement that program. Whereas the pilots are designed to work around replacing gas mains, the larger pipes that run down the middle of streets, the new bill would target gas service lines, the smaller pipes that connect individual homes to the mains.
In some ways, the new bill is more aggressive than the existing pilot program. In the case of the pilots, the utility has to get 67% of a neighborhood onboard before seeking approval from the utility commission to decarbonize. The new program would set no such threshold. Every time a utility identifies a service line that needs to be replaced, it will have to offer the customer at the end of the line a financial incentive to electrify instead. If Governor Newsom signs the bill, it will be the first law in the country to require investor-owned utilities to offer their customers non-pipeline alternatives.
Still, it’s entirely up to the customer whether or not to accept the incentive, so it’s unclear how effective it will be. The bill doesn’t specify how much money the utility has to offer, punting that decision to the state’s regulators. But it does say the incentive has to be lower than the average cost of a service line replacement so that it creates net savings for the utility — and therefore for the utility’s ratepayers. Service line replacements average $35,000 to $55,000 in California, according to an evaluation of the Home Energy Choice Act by University of California, Los Angeles, researchers. Earthjustice and the Natural Resources Defense Council, the environmental groups that backed the bill, propose a base incentive of $15,000 per home, with a bump to $20,000 for homes in disadvantaged communities.
While that might sound substantial, it’s not going to be enough, in many cases, to cover the entire cost of heat pumps, an electric water heater, an electric or induction stove, and an electric clothes dryer. The UCLA study pins average costs for whole-home electrification in California at upwards of $25,000.
Homeowners will be able to combine the incentive with other state subsidies, but that can get complicated. One of the biggest challenges with these kinds of programs is that planning a whole-home electrification project is essentially a full time job.
Last fall, I wrote about an incentive program run by the utility Con Edison in New York State called Electric Advantage. It’s similar to California’s neighborhood pilots, in that it targets gas mains instead of service lines. If all the homeowners served by a main agree to go electric, ConEd will cover 100% of the cost of replacing their gas-powered appliances with electric versions, plus installing insulation and air sealing. My story was about Julie Liu, a contractor the utility hires to manage these projects. Liu fronts the cost of the retrofit and handles all of the scheduling and coordination between electricians, plumbers, insulation specialists, and other building professionals. She braids together various incentives to get the job done for as little money as possible. And what I learned in writing about her is that she was basically one of a kind — ConEd hadn’t been able to find anyone else to do what she did.
That leads me to one of my big questions about this California bill: Will the gas companies manage the retrofits themselves, contract with third parties like Liu, or just give the money directly to homeowners? The bill doesn't specify, so that’s something utility regulators will have to work out if Newsom signs it into law.
I also wonder about relying on utilities to sell the idea of electrification to customers, especially since not all natural gas companies in California offer electricity service. How hard will they try to lose business? The bill does contain some safeguards to ensure the companies make a concerted effort, such as requiring that they notify customers of the climate and health benefits of going electric and of additional incentives they might be eligible for. The UCLA report recommends that regulators create additional incentives to get utilities on board, such as giving them a generous rate of return on the cost of the program.
Despite these questions, the bill looks well-suited for this moment of concerns about energy affordability, with its focus on reducing capital spending and maintaining customer choice. Newsom has until September 30 to veto it or sign it into law.
Environmental groups are lining up against an influx of new PFAS designed to cool AI infrastructure.
This spring, the chemicals company Chemours asked the U.S. government for permission to begin manufacturing 3-Hexene, 1,1,1,2,2,5,5,6,6,6-decafluoro-, (3E)- (CAS RN 1256353-26-0). Because that’s a mouthful, the company also gave the new compound an easier-to-say name: Opteon 2P50.
Under normal circumstances, the filing for Opteon 2P50 would not have been particularly remarkable. As it stands, the compound is one of several hundred chemicals currently under review by the Environmental Protection Agency, pursuant to Section 5 of the Toxic Substances Control Act — the statute that requires companies to seek government approval before they start pumping out new goos, gels, gases, and solvents for commercial use. But when filing its premanufacture notice this spring, Chemours flagged Opteon 2P50 for priority review, describing the “critical societal need” the chemical “directly addresses” — that is, the build-out of data centers.
A surge in demand for coolants, water treatments, specialized fire suppressants, and coatings for semiconductors, among other chemicals, has paralleled the data center boom. One market research firm projects that the market for immersion-cooling fluids alone will grow from just shy of $4.9 billion to $11.1 billion by 2030. The industry has seized on the opportunity, with the American Chemistry Council running sponsored content in Beltway publications like Politico and Axios last year pushing for regulatory easements. “AI and other breakthroughs depend on chemistry,” one such headline reads.
Then last summer, President Trump issued an executive order to streamline the federal permitting and regulatory processes around artificial intelligence. EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin followed that move with an announcement that the agency would henceforth prioritize TSCA reviews for any data center-related chemicals and compounds, bypassing what is often a years-long bottleneck. In the eight months since, I’ve counted four new filings for chemicals with purported data center cooling uses, including a rival coolant to Opteon 2P50 from Schimmer & Schwarz.
But Opteon 2P50 stands out for a few reasons. The biggest is that the compound is a polyfluoroalkyl substance, which, along with perfluoroalkyl substances, are referred to as PFAS, or colloquially as “forever chemicals.” Opteon 2P50’s fast-track request has alarmed environmental, public health, and watchdog groups, who fear that the Trump administration’s regulatory shortcut has created a fast lane for approving new PFAS, which can be nearly impossible to remove from the environment once contamination occurs.
So far, two data center-related PFAS are under review by the EPA, Maria Doa, the chemicals policy senior director at the Environmental Defense Fund, told me: a heat transfer fluid with an “almost completely redacted” filing, and Opteon 2P50. While the latter filing is also heavily redacted, it left enough of a paper trail of lab work and toxicology studies that Earthjustice felt it had the grounds to build a credible opposition. “There was a lot of information for us to comment on and make an opinion on the chemical,” Adriana Antezana, a staff scientist at Earthjustice, told me. “It was also one of the few chemicals so far that have been submitted for the EPA to do a priority review under the executive order to prioritize data center infrastructure. That’s why we flagged it.”
It’s fairly common for premanufacture notices, or PMNs, to include heavy redactions as companies argue they need to shield confidential business information; about two-thirds of TSCA filings from 1979 to 2009 did so in the name of protecting trade secrets, according to a review by the Environmental Working Group, a nonpartisan public health and accountability organization. Still, an Earthjustice-fronted coalition of 17 environmental groups has formally asked the EPA to deny the premanufacture notice for Opteon 2P50 because they say it presents “unreasonable risk” to human health and the environment as a PFAS. They also contend that the full information on the risks to people who’ve been exposed to Opteon 2P50 is “unlawfully” redacted from the filing.
“It seems like chemical companies that create PFAS are hopping on the opportunity to create them for electrical industries,” Antezana said. “Obviously this administration is very supportive of semiconductor manufacturing and data centers, and it seems like, unfortunately, there is an opportunity there for a lot of them to get their chemicals approved and used widely.”
Also at play: The company 3M ceased manufacturing PFAS at the end of last year, leaving a vacuum that Chemours appears eager to fill with Opteon 2P50. The new liquid could replace 3M’s Novec immersion-cooling fluid, the previous industry standard, because it also doesn’t conduct electricity. The appeal of such a chemical is obvious: Many data centers currently use water-intensive evaporative cooling or chilling systems to keep their electronics from overheating. (This is why some opponents describe AI as “thirsty.”) Opteon 2P50, on the other hand, facilitates a completely closed-loop system. Because it doesn’t conduct electricity, electronic equipment can be submerged directly into the fluid, which boils off the heat. The vapors cool and condense back into a liquid — the referent in “two-phase immersion cooling” — and recirculate into the tanks.
Chemours has said that Opteon 2P50 can lead to a 90% reduction in cooling energy, a 60% reduction in a data center’s physical footprint, and “nearly eliminate water use,” all with minimal leakage into the environment — the estimated upper-bound emission rate is 2% per year, a company spokesperson told me. (Chemours declined to make a spokesperson available for an interview for this story and provided a statement about its filing via email. The EPA did not respond to a request for comment.)
Chemours has also insisted that Opteon 2P50 is not, in fact, a PFAS. On its face, that is a dubious argument. Per the internationally used structural definition of a PFAS, it's right in the compound’s long formal name, with the initial string of 10 numbers describing the location of 10 fluorine atoms bonded to carbon — the strongest common single bond in organic chemistry and the reason “forever” chemicals are so difficult to break down and remove once they enter the environment. (It’s also why they make great water-resistant coatings.)
But if a PFAS designation is intended to characterize the persistence of a compound — a narrower definition used by the EPA — then Opteon 2P50 doesn’t fit the bill. After a lifespan of only about 70 days in the atmosphere, it reacts and breaks apart into perfluorinated aldehyde, which in turn breaks down into two ultra-short-chain PFAS: perfluoropropanoic acid (PFPrA) and trifluoroacetic acid (TFA).
It might seem like splitting hairs — if Opteon 2P50 eventually breaks down into PFAS, shouldn’t that be all that matters? — but the company’s aversion to the label is understandable. Concern around PFAS has ballooned in recent years as awareness of the difficulty (and in some cases, near impossibility) of removing such compounds from drinking water has increased. The known and suspected health effects of some PFAS, such as PFOA, can also be alarming, including cancers, fertility issues, and pregnancy complications. The issue has created a rift in Trumpworld, dividing the Make America Healthy Again contingent from regulatory reform advocates and industry lobbyists.
While a minority of data centers across the country use closed-loop cooling systems at this point, and of those an even smaller subset use immersion cooling that requires a specialized dielectric fluid like a PFAS, new facilities are already facing public opinion headwinds that a PFAS association could compound. (In a statement, the American Chemistry Council told me: “Not all PFAS are the same. Individual chemistries have differing properties, uses, and environmental and health profiles, and should be evaluated based on their specific characteristics and the best available science rather than treated as a single class.”)
While Chemours argues that leakage isn’t an issue with Opteon 2P50, the fact that it shared an estimated emission rate with me at all acknowledges the realistic possibility that some will reach the outside world. That may be during manufacturing — Chemours said in its filing that it will make Opteon 2P50 outside the United States and import it to its headquarters, but if the PMN is approved, it will also have legal grounds to produce it stateside — or during its disposal, after an estimated 20 years of use in a data center, as confirmed to me by a company spokesperson. But there are few clues to what that end-of-life disposal process would look like. Antezana of Earthjustice told me that in Chemours’ filing, there is “virtually no acknowledgment of disposal” at all. Chemours’ marketing also suggests it is interested in exploring the use of Opteon 2P50 outside data centers, including in electric vehicle batteries, where leaks would presumably be more difficult to contain.
“The rule of thumb is that refrigerants leak,” Lenny Siegel, the director of Chips Communities United, a CHIPS Act watchdog group that also opposes the approval of Opteon 2P50, explained to me. “They can leak when they’re being made; they can leak when they’re being stored; they can leak when they’re being transported; they can leak when they’re being installed in tanks or removed from tanks. My refrigerator might last 20 years, but the electronics in a data center will probably be obsolete in a few years, and there’s been no discussion of how they’re going to make sure that there’s no release [of Opteon 2P50].”
Siegel mentioned his refrigerator because Opteon 2P50 is also a hydrofluoroolefin, or HFO — a class of compounds that break down in the atmosphere in a matter of weeks and are used as alternatives to older CFCs and HFCs, refrigerants that deplete the ozone. In addition to fueling the argument that it isn’t a PFAS, this characteristic is also why the company goes further to say it can actually help fight global warming. It has a far lower warming potential than traditional coolants, which Chemours said in its sustainability report released last week is helping it to reduce its scope 3 emissions.
But this is also where things start to get tricky. Remember those two ultra-short-chain PFAS Opteon 2P50 breaks down into: PFPrA and TFA? The pair are “known for their high mobility in water and difficulty to contain and remediate, resulting in their ubiquitous presence, widespread contamination, and substantial risks to human health and the environment,” Earthjustice said in its public comment. The organization further cites the European Chemicals Agency’s June decision to classify TFA as a reproductive toxin that “may damage fertility.”
“Assuming [Opteon 2P50 is] used, it will be released into the environment, go into the upper atmosphere, and break down and spread TFA on the landscape,” Siegel told me. Its main pathway into humans is through uptake by plants that we or other animals eat; TFA has been detected across food types, one study found, including in bananas, tomatoes, muffins, chicken breast, and wheat.
But Mads Sulbaek Andersen, a professor of chemistry at California State University, Northridge, whose research on TFA Earthjustice cites in its filing to the EPA, told me he thinks the opposition has blown the danger way out of proportion. “You will find people in industry saying sometimes that TFA is not a problem because it is not toxic,” he said. “I would say that’s not quite correct. Everything is toxic [in large enough amounts], but the risk that we see from TFA is not worth worrying about.”
Sulbaek Andersen is a panel member for the United Nations Environmental Program under the Montreal Protocol, which recently concluded an update to the parties on the state of the environment and the gases being used as replacements for the old ozone-depleting CFCs. During its review, which projected how TFA is likely to accumulate in the environment through 2100, “the conclusion is that the risk to environmental health and human health is de minimis,” he told me. He further told me that he thinks the European Chemicals Agency made a mistake in defining TFA as toxic at all, basing its decision on what he described as a “problematic study” with “laboratory issues,” and that Earthjustice, by extension, is overreacting to the Opteon 2P50 filing. (Some research has linked TFA exposure to eye and skeletal abnormalities in rabbit offspring, though animal studies are not necessarily indicative of toxicity to humans.)
“They’re saying that the EPA shouldn’t approve it because it’s a PFAS? That statement is nonsense,” he told me when I asked him about it. “You can decide that you don’t want any PFAS [approved], but that’s not founded in science — that’s just opinion.”
Not everyone in his field agrees. Hans Peter Arp, an environmental chemist at the Norwegian Geotechnical Institute, is the lead author of a 2024 paper that describes the buildup of TFA as an irreversible “global threat.” “It’s just a matter of time before PFAS from different sources accumulate to levels that are more concerning,” he told me. The pharmaceutical and semiconductor industries are other sources of atmospheric TFA, and it’s yet unclear how a compound like Opteon 2P50 could add to that contamination if it is widely adopted in data centers. A single immersion tank holds around 1,270 liters of fluid, and a hyperscale data center could house hundreds of tanks.
“That’s what I’m worried about in all my discussions of TFA and PFAS,” Arp went on. “That this new Opteon will be one more source, of many sources, that will lead to an accumulation that is a permanent, fixed thing. It’s not like we stop using it and it goes away. It doesn’t work like that.”
Real questions remain about the practical use of Opteon 2P50, too. As Earthjustice’s filing notes, all the data from Chemours about its use and efficiency are based on small-scale tests, and there is still “no indication it can be used at scale in data centers.” A 2016 study by the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory that assessed a different dielectric heat transfer fluid that was functionally analogous to Opteon 2P50, though chemically distinct, and found “significant issues with the substance and deemed its use ‘not viable at this time,’” Earthjustice’s report notes.
Chemours faces substantial competition. PFAS-free hydrocarbon, CO2 and ammonia chillers, and CO2 CRAC units “are already cooling data centers in Europe and North America efficiently,” ATMOsphere, a market accelerator for clean cooling, writes in its 2025 report. Though there are some concerns that these so-called “natural refrigerants” aren’t as effective as PFAS, “I try to emphasize that if there are safer chemicals that we can use in the production, we should favor those technologies,” Arp told me. “I know I probably can’t do much about limiting data center growth,” he went on. “But we can at least try to make them in as environmentally sustainable a way as possible, such as using geothermal energy — and using cooling systems that do not require PFAS.”
Though Sulbaek Andersen insisted on avoiding the clumsy vilification of PFAS — a term that describes a molecular structure found in millions of compounds — as uniformly “bad” or “dangerous,” several U.S. states and the EU have made moves toward phasing them out. Still, given the prevailing atmosphere, Chemours’ bet on Opteon 2P50 surprised me.
But whether Opteon 2P50 is ultimately deemed unviable or quickly made obsolete by laws or competitors, it appears certain to be among the first of many data center-related chemicals and PFAS for an overtaxed and understaffed EPA to review. “I suspect there will be more chemicals coming along the pipeline,” Antezana, the Earthjustice scientist, told me, sounding weary.
Given the pressure on the EPA from the Trump administration, coupled with business-friendly exceptions for transparency around health impacts that make it difficult for watchdog groups to sound the alarm, now may be a poor time to play fast and loose with a substance that could end up in the environment forever.
As Arp, the environmental chemist, warned, the agency needs to get a decision on a chemical like Opteon 2P50 right the first time; if toxicology studies later confirm serious human health impacts of TFA, it would be too late to backtrack. “This is something we’ve gotten to too late, too often,” he said.