If You Don’t Define and Present Yourself Online, Others Will Do It for You

Today’s post is by writer, coach, and brand strategist Michelle Tamara Cutler (@mickytcutler).

In social media groups and forums, many of us writers talk about the trifecta of building a website, maintaining our online identity, and navigating the shifting sands of social media platforms.

Really, what we’re talking about is how we define and present ourselves online.

Back in 1997, when I was a visual artist in NYC, I relied on in-person events, word-of-mouth, business cards, and email to maintain professional connections. People were just starting to speculate that domain names would have future value, and in a flash of foresight, I bought my own domain based on my name.

Securing my name was easy; creating an online portfolio of my work was complicated. Websites required designers, and hiring a coder to build an HTML site from scratch was expensive. Luckily, a friend, who worked as a web designer at Calvin Klein, offered to build my site in exchange for a few brunches of huevos rancheros at Life Café. Similar to a chef asking the prep cook to cut and parboil vegetables, my friend asked me to prepare my content before he began designing.

What I thought would take only a few weeks to curate my work and write a simple bio became a yearlong existential dive into defining myself as an artist in the online world.

My new site featured artwork and stills from film and theatre, and the only way you would find me is by already knowing my name from an email salutation, business card, or referral. I was active enough at the time that I could enjoy my online obscurity. I felt like a cool after-hours club or that super memorable gallery café you stumbled into and don’t want to tell too many people about or else it will be ruined. Not a recipe for online success, but that kind of success wasn’t currency until the 2010s.

Flash forward to 2024. More and more professional relationships were being forged via video apps and social media. My website—originally designed as a visual portfolio—wasn’t optimized for text, the main way search engines understand what a site is about.

As creative industries shift, we have to shift with them

I was ready to embark upon the fifth iteration of my website. I had used Wix and Squarespace templates, repeating the same formula my friend had initiated 25 years earlier: images, fonts, palette, and graphic design. This felt comfortable because I could rely on the power of an image—of me or by me—to speak for me.

But my business model had evolved from visual artist to writer.

I’m no tech expert, but I am a seeker of information. During a Writer’s Bridge session about newsletters, I met a business strategist in a breakout room. I commented about wanting to design a new website, and she replied, “Before you pick out your colors and font, decide what it is you’re offering.” I had never defined what it is I do or why it might be relevant or of interest. I trusted people would “get it” by osmosis.

If we don’t define our online presence for ourselves, the internet will do it for us.

I searched Freelancing Females, a database of freelancers, for a designer who could also advise me on my content strategy and SEO. Many web designers offer free site audits, and I interviewed three potential collaborators within my fixed budget before engaging with one for my revamped site.

Working with my new web designer felt uncomfortable at first. Her recommendations clashed with my creative instincts. I cringed at the suggestion to call myself a Coach—one of the internet’s strongest search terms for personal services. But when I really went deep into what I’d been doing for over a decade as a screenwriter and advertising writer, I began to accept that I had been coaching my clients as much as executing the material. How did I expect to attract new business when I was reluctant to define my offerings?

This got me thinking about my first job.

At fourteen, I worked behind the counter of a famous bakery known for its signature product: a slab of chocolate fudge on a round vanilla cookie. My boss’s Greek family were the original owners of Berger’s Bakery, and he was charged with opening a stall at a new food market. He hated it. He was (is) an artist and the idea of selling donuts and squandering his talents on frosting decorative sheet cakes made him outwardly furious. He would shout at customers, shout at other vendors. Shout at us.

And still people would line up to buy the product.

Later, I became the manager of a popular restaurant in Soho and a bartender at what was the first real Spanish tapas bar. I saw that a successful business relies on repeat customers who take comfort in the food and service experience they know and love. They tell their friends, they bring their family and first dates. So yes, it’s the quality of the product, but it’s also the ambience.

I can’t help but use my years in food service as an analogy for how I approach the design and upkeep of my website and social media.

I am my restaurant: front of house, chef, prep cook, cleaner, server, barista, bartender.

My website is the Front of House of my business. Similar to deciding whether or not to order from a restaurant at first glance, you wonder if what they serve is clear? The description of dishes and ingredients. Their hours of operation and location. Does the font on their signage look authentic or is it that “Euro bistro” font you see everywhere?

My testimonials are like reviews: my food is fresh, it was served hot, and tasted delicious.

I imagine my social media accounts as ancillary rooms to my dining room: a reading nook (Substack), a cocktail bar (Instagram), a coffee corner (Facebook), a business center (LinkedIn), a rave club (TikTok). They adorn and embellish my website, but they are not the reason you’d decide to eat at my restaurant. Hanging out in my cocktail bar may be so comfortable that you never walk into the dining room and sit down to order a full meal.

Let’s not forget the bathrooms!

The state of the bathroom tells you a lot about what’s going on in the kitchen as far as cleanliness. Keeping all of our spaces—social media sites, forums, profiles—tidy and up to date goes a long way with instilling confidence in strangers seeking you out for services.

Because as writers, all of our exchanges become personal experiences with our readers.

Using the restaurant analogy, I broke down my website approach into 3 Rules:

1. Don’t be shy: clarify what you offer (again & again & again)

The internet is like a three-dimensional restaurant. It isn’t a linear experience. Visitors could land anywhere as the first point of contact, not just your Home or About page. Like the chef’s specials, be clear about who you are, what you care about, and how to engage on every page—whether that’s hiring you, buying your book, or signing up for your newsletter.

It feels redundant and counterintuitive as a storyteller, as if you don’t truly trust your audience, but it’s necessary if you want to serve that dish you’ve spent years training to perfect. Perhaps your huevos rancheros are what we’ll eat for brunch every Sunday!

2. Don’t be clever: optimize and prolong engagement

The name you choose for your URL should be clear and have longevity, so it builds in ranking. It’s like your favorite local bar or coffee shop. You love saying the name; it brings you comfort. Even when they do a renovation, the name sticks if it’s as iconic as a chocolate fudge cookie sold by a shouting Greek.

From there, your website should reflect your key offerings, the themes you’re passionate about, and your core subject matter. The staples. Otherwise, search engines (and potential readers) are less likely to find you or, once they have, remain engaged. Simple updates—like page titles, keyword-rich narrative descriptions, videos, blogs, podcasts, and clear navigation bars—help your target audience discover and benefit from your offerings and perhaps try new dishes!

3. Don’t be elusive: make it easy for people to contact you

How annoying is it when you’re ready to order and the server is nowhere in sight?

Successful sites guide visitors toward a clear next step or CTA (call to action). Whether you’re an author, coach, or freelancer, your website should funnel visitors toward your main goal—booking a consultation or speaking engagement, subscribing to your newsletter, or purchasing your book—without making them hunt for how to do it.

Use your skills to define a core narrative

We are storytellers, are we not? Let’s use that skill to our advantage when building the language—the food culture—of our site. If you specialize in plant-based food, don’t court the meat eaters. When I looked into the proverbial mirror, I saw I’m squarely in the creative nonfiction landscape. I help film producers, commercial directors, and individuals adapt true stories into screenplays and memoirs. My personal writing is memoir, essays, and flash nonfiction.

Notice that ALL of the underlined words are true to me AND strong search words for my website copy.

For me, revisiting the question of who I am in the digital space became an exciting process of rediscovery.

By leaning into what makes sense to me and integrating storytelling into my strategy, I’m able to make my site more effective with my voice and connect with an entirely new (wider) audience beyond my original network.

Now, my website analytics show visitors spend an average of 2:46 minutes engaging with my content, and people who have never heard of me will get in touch after finding me through organic searches. Perhaps they are following a tasty, glazed carrot—or even a fudge-slathered cookie—down a rabbit hole of their own.