Pull Up a Chair: How I Turned the ChrisJM About Page Into a Kitchen Table
There's a particular noise an About page makes when it has been written for a recruiter. It sounds like a lanyard. Name, role, a tidy row of logos, a list of skills with the commas doing all the heavy lifting. Nothing wrong with it, exactly. It just doesn't sound like a person. And mine had been making that noise for far too long.
I run ChrisJM.co.uk — a small corner of the internet for notes, projects and opinions from a UK creator. The rest of the site had loosened up. The blog posts have a bit of room to breathe. The footer has a bench and some decent links. The error page is a corner shop, for reasons that made sense at the time. But the About page was still standing there in a suit, holding a folder.
So I pulled it apart and rebuilt it. Not as a CV. More as a kitchen table with a spare chair.
The problem with a conference badge
An About page is often the first proper conversation a visitor has with you. They've clicked through from a link, a search result or a mate's recommendation. They want to know: who is this, what do they make, and is there a reason to stick around? That's it. That's the whole brief.
A CV-shaped page answers a different set of questions. What jobs have you had? Which tools can you list? Are you available for hire, and if so, are you expensive? Those questions matter sometimes, but they arrive later. They're what you ask after you've decided you like the cut of someone's jib. They are not the first thing you say when someone walks into the room.
The old page read like a conference badge: my name in large type, a role underneath, a paragraph of professional summary, then a list. It was accurate. It was also a monologue. Visitors were standing in the doorway while I recited my own job description at them. No wonder it felt stiff.
What I wanted the room to say
The new brief was simple. If the About page were a room in a house, I wanted it to be the kitchen. Not the show-home lounge. The kitchen: warm light, a kettle that's just boiled, a chair pulled out, a few things on the table because someone has been working there. You should be able to sit down without being asked to submit a form first.
So the page now does three jobs, in this order:
- It says hello and offers you a seat.
- It tells you what I actually make — not a job title, but the stuff that ends up on the site.
- It gives you three easy ways to start a conversation, depending on how much time and social energy you've got.
That's it. No skills matrix. No “passionate about leveraging”. No list of every platform I've ever opened. The page is allowed to be a bit small. Small is fine. Small is welcoming.
The before: a polite monologue
Here's the old opening, more or less as it stood. I've trimmed it, but the flavour is right:
I am a UK-based creator with experience across digital projects, content and web. I am passionate about crafting engaging experiences and delivering value. My skills include [long list]. I am available for freelance opportunities and collaborations.
It's not offensive. It's just... airless. Three sentences and not a single pulse. It tells you what I've done, but not what it's like to work with me, or what I'm currently interested in, or why any of it matters on a wet Tuesday in November.
The rest of the page carried on in the same register: a paragraph about my approach, a list of services, a closing call to action that said “Get in touch” and somehow made it sound like a chore.
The after: a kitchen table with a spare chair
The new opening does a different job. It starts with the room, not the CV:
Sit down. Kettle's on.
I'm Chris. I make things for the web and write about the process on ChrisJM.co.uk — notes, projects and the occasional opinion from a kitchen table in the UK. Some of it is finished. Some of it is a pile of parts and a hopeful expression. All of it is mine.
Right now I'm obsessed with small, hand-made websites, the bit of a project where the idea finally clicks, and finding the shortest route between a good thought and a published page.
Then a short section headed “What you'll find here” with three bullet points: the blog (notes and opinions), the projects shelf (finished things and half-finished things), and the /now page (what I'm up to this month). That's the tour. No jargon.
Then the conversation starters. This is the bit I'm most pleased with. Instead of a single “Contact” button, there are three doors, sized for different moods:
- Send a note. A plain email link for anyone who wants to say hello, ask a question or tell me I've got a font wrong. No template required.
- Reply to a post. If you've read something on the blog and have a thought, there's a link to the comments or a direct reply. It's the easiest way in if you don't fancy a formal introduction.
- Book twenty minutes. A simple scheduling link for people who'd rather talk than type. It's not a sales call. It's a chat with a time limit, which is a kindness to us both.
None of these is buried. None of them requires you to fill in a “project brief” before you're allowed to say hello. They're just three ways to pull up a chair.
What I kept and what I binned
I kept the facts. Visitors still need to know where I am, roughly what I do, and how to reach me. I kept a short line about the kind of work I take on, because that's useful and honest. I kept the links to the rest of the site, because an About page should be a doorway, not a dead end.
I binned the skills list. I binned the “passionate about” paragraph. I binned the phrase “digital creator” — not because it's a bad phrase, but because it doesn't tell you anything you can picture. I also binned the instinct to sound impressive. Impressive is fine for a conference badge. It's not what makes someone stay for a brew.
The test: would a mate stay for a brew?
The best test I've found for an About page is simple. Imagine a friend of a friend has clicked through to your site. They don't know you. They're mildly curious. Would they feel able to send a one-line email after reading your About page? Or would they feel like they'd need to put on a lanyard first?
If it's the second one, the page is doing too much performing and not enough welcoming. You don't need to be everyone's cup of tea. You just need to make it clear that there's a chair, the kettle works, and you're happy to hear from them.
My About page now says “sit down” before it says “hire me”. That feels about right for ChrisJM. The hire-me stuff is still there, tucked into a sentence rather than shouted from a podium. The rest is just a room with a spare chair and a few things on the table. Pull one out.
