Twitter Bio Generator
for the 160 characters that decide it.

What 160 characters actually has to do.

Almost nobody reads your bio on its own. They read one post of yours, tap your name because something in it was interesting, and spend about a second on the line under it before deciding whether to follow. That is the whole job: answer who is this, and why would their posts be worth having on my timeline, fast enough to survive a thumb that is already moving.

Which is why a bio is not a résumé line. A résumé is read by someone who has already decided to consider you. A bio is read by someone who has not, and the two want completely different sentences. The résumé version lists what you are qualified for. The bio version gives a stranger one concrete reason to expect something good on their timeline tomorrow.

160 is also less room than it sounds. It counts spaces, punctuation, emoji and any link you type into it. Roughly a sentence and a half. That constraint is the good news — it is short enough that the only way to fill it badly is with words that mean nothing.

The four bios that never work.

This tool is built to refuse all four, so it is worth knowing why they fail before you write your own.

• “Helping founders scale their business.” The LinkedIn formula, and the single most common bio on the platform. It survives because it feels like it says something. Read it as a stranger: helping them do what, how, and on what evidence? Every word in it would fit ten thousand other accounts.
• The adjective stack. “Passionate. Driven. Obsessed with growth.” These are claims about your inner life that nobody can check and nobody came for. One thing you actually did beats three things you say you are.
• The job title pile. Six labels separated by vertical bars. Founder, investor, advisor, speaker, writer, dad. It reads as a list of hats rather than a person, and by the sixth one the reader has stopped.
• The hashtag tail. Hashtags in a bio are not searchable in any way that helps you, they are decoration, and they date the account to whichever year that tag was popular.

What replaces all four is the same thing: something specific and true. A number, a thing you built, a place you came from, a niche you actually serve. Specific is what makes a stranger believe the rest.

Eight shapes, and when each one wins.

The generator writes one bio in each of these, so you can compare shapes rather than eight versions of the same sentence. They are worth knowing on their own, because picking the shape is most of the work.

The plain one

What you do, with the single most concrete detail attached. Wins when what you do is unusual enough to carry the line by itself.

The fragments

Two or three short pieces separated by periods. The classic X bio, and usually the best one, because it fits three true things into the space one sentence would waste.

What you're building

Present tense, named specifically. Wins while you are shipping something, because it gives people a reason to check back.

Who it's for

The useful version of “helping X do Y”, said the way you would say it out loud to a friend. Wins for consultants, freelancers and anyone whose next client reads their profile.

The proof

The one number, result or credential that earns a stranger's attention. Wins when you have a figure worth leading with, and should be skipped entirely when you do not.

The dry one

The same facts with a bit of personality in them. Wins on an account that posts opinions, because it sets the register before anyone reads a post.

What you post

What a follower will actually get on their timeline. Wins when your posting is consistent enough to make a promise you can keep.

Then and now

Where you came from, what you do now. Wins on a career change, because the gap between the two is the interesting part.

How to get a good one out of it.

The generator will not invent anything you did not tell it. That is deliberate — a bio with a made-up number in it is worse than no bio, because the first person who asks about it catches you. So the quality of what comes back is decided almost entirely by the first box.

Give it the unglamorous specifics: the name of the thing you are building, how many people use it, what you did before, the actual niche rather than the category. “I make software” produces eight polite, empty bios. “I built a booking tool for barbershops, 40 shops use it, I managed a restaurant for nine years before that” produces eight you would have to choose between. If a shape needs a fact you never gave it, it leaves a bracketed blank for you to fill in rather than making one up.

Then read the one you like out loud. A bio you would be embarrassed to say to a person is a bio that reads as written by somebody else, which on this platform is the one thing you cannot afford.

Frequently asked questions.