Somebody arrives from a post they liked. They have a question that lasts about two seconds: is this account for me? A bio that lists adjectives answers a different question, one nobody asked.
The three things worth the space
- What you make — plainly, in the words a stranger would use, not the words your industry uses
- Who it is for, when that narrows things usefully
- What to do next, if there is something
That is most bios done. What fills the rest of them is a list of roles, three emoji and a word like “passionate”, none of which distinguish one account from another.
The first line is read, the rest is skimmed
Instagram shows a couple of lines before truncating, and the name field is searchable while the bio text is not. So the useful trick is unglamorous: put the thing people would search for — the craft, the city — in the name field, and spend the bio on the sentence.
The link
One link people learn beats a link that changes weekly. If it moves every time you post, nobody builds the habit of looking, and the traffic you were chasing goes to whoever was predictable.
Read your own bio as if you had never heard of you. If it could sit on twenty other accounts in your field without changing a word, it is not a bio yet — it is a category.