100+ children, still funding IVF for women who want to use his sperm: Telegram founder Pavel Durov’s unusual approach to fatherhood

Pavel Durov, the billionaire founder of Telegram, has never been known for following convention. From building a fiercely independent messaging app to living a largely nomadic life beyond the reach of any single state, Durov has long cultivated a reputation as a contrarian. Now, his views on fatherhood and reproduction are drawing renewed attention after he revealed that he has fathered more than 100 children across a dozen countries and continues to fund IVF treatments for women who want to conceive using his donated sperm.

Unlike most tech founders’ family stories, Durov’s is not framed around privacy or quiet domestic life. Instead, he presents it as a deliberate, almost ideological project, one rooted in his belief that the modern world is facing a serious fertility crisis and that traditional ideas about reproduction no longer fit the realities of the 21st century.

Why Pavel Durov chose this path

At the centre of Durov’s thinking is a conviction that global fertility rates are falling not because people do not want children, but because modern life makes it harder for them to have them. He has repeatedly pointed to declining sperm quality, environmental pollution, lifestyle changes and delayed parenthood as forces quietly reshaping human reproduction. In his view, these trends pose a long-term risk to societies that few governments are willing to confront directly.

Durov has described sperm donation by healthy men as a “civic duty”, arguing that those who are physically able should help offset broader biological decline. Rather than building a traditional family, he says he chose scale and reach, allowing his genetic material to be used by women who actively want children but face biological or financial barriers.

This belief helps explain both the number of children he claims to have fathered and the geographic spread across more than 12 countries. By donating through clinics rather than relationships, Durov says he removed emotional expectations while maximising impact. His goal, as he frames it, was not personal legacy in the conventional sense, but participation in what he sees as a collective response to demographic decline.

The claim that stunned even supporters

Durov has said that more than 100 of his biological children were conceived through sperm donation beginning around 2010, in addition to six children he has with three partners from personal relationships. The sheer scale of that claim has fuelled disbelief and debate, even among those sympathetic to his broader views.

What sets his case apart is not only the number, but the continued involvement. Durov has stated that he is willing to pay IVF costs for women who choose to use his donated sperm, removing a financial obstacle that often makes assisted reproduction inaccessible. Although he no longer donates new samples, sperm from earlier donations remains frozen at fertility clinics and available for use.

He has rejected suggestions that this is about ego or publicity, insisting that he is responding pragmatically to trends that already exist, but are usually hidden behind private wealth and closed doors.

IVF treatment can cost tens of thousands of dollars, especially when multiple cycles are required. By offering to cover these costs, Durov positions himself not just as a donor, but as an active participant in the reproductive process, extending his involvement beyond biology into economics.

He has said women should not be excluded from having children because of cost, particularly when age or medical factors make IVF their only realistic option. Reports suggest the offer applies within medical limits, including age thresholds that reflect standard fertility guidelines.

Supporters see this as a way of widening access to reproductive technology using private wealth. Critics argue it introduces uncomfortable power dynamics, where money and genetics intersect in ways that blur ethical boundaries.

All children, one inheritance principle

Perhaps the most striking element of Durov’s public statements concerns inheritance. He has said that all of his biological children, whether conceived through relationships or sperm donation, should be entitled to an equal share of his fortune, provided they can prove genetic parentage.

With Durov’s wealth estimated in the tens of billions of dollars, the pledge reframes sperm donation from a legally detached act into something closer to extended, if unconventional, responsibility. It also raises difficult questions about how such claims would be managed across legal systems, borders and family structures.
Durov has suggested that DNA, rather than upbringing or emotional closeness, should define eligibility. He has also said that inheritance would be delayed for decades, a measure he frames as encouraging independence rather than dependence on wealth.

Fatherhood without family life

Notably absent from Durov’s approach is any emphasis on traditional parenting. He has not claimed to raise or personally know the vast majority of his children, nor has he presented himself as a daily presence in their lives.

Instead, he speaks of fatherhood in abstract terms, focusing on genetics, opportunity and long-term recognition rather than emotional involvement. To some, this appears detached. To others, it reflects a broader shift in how reproduction, family and identity are increasingly separated in modern societies.

Durov has emphasised that he does not seek control or personal influence over the lives of his children, only to remove barriers to birth and ensure equal treatment later in life.

A broader debate about money, fertility and choice

Reaction to Durov’s disclosures has been sharply divided. Some view his actions as an unsettling experiment in which wealth amplifies personal ideology. Others argue that his openness exposes realities already present among the global elite, where IVF, surrogacy and genetic selection quietly shape family planning.

As countries grapple with ageing populations and falling birth rates, Durov’s story sits at the crossroads of technology, money and biology. It raises questions that extend well beyond one billionaire: who gets to reproduce easily, who bears the costs, and how much influence private wealth should have over something as fundamental as birth.

Whether seen as altruism, ego or social engineering, Durov’s approach makes one thing clear. In an era where even parenthood is being redefined, few figures embody that shift as starkly as the Telegram founder himself.