Every Author Bio is a Lie (Including This One)

Here’s the inconvenient truth (and yes, that’s ironic, because this is supposed to be my “bio” speaking): every author bio you’ve ever read is a lie. Including mine. Including this one.

Not the dramatic kind of lie that ends up in headlines or family gossip. It is more like the little white lies we all tell – like when someone asks if we’ve read that famous book and we nod, even though it’s been collecting dust on the shelf for years.

Author bios work the same way: they are neat, polished, carefully cropped versions of who we want to be seen as, not who we actually are.

The Clichés of Author Bios

Once you start noticing the patterns, you can’t unsee them. Most author bios read like they came from the same slightly overworked intern at a publishing house. The structure is always identical. It starts with a profession, then sprinkles in a quirky hobby, adds a pet, and ends with a vague nod to productivity.

You know the ones:

“She loves coffee and long walks.” (Groundbreaking. Truly, who knew an entire species could be summed up by caffeine and pedestrian activity?)

“He lives with his cat in a cosy corner of the world.” (Which usually translates to: he pays rent somewhere and occasionally scoops a litter box.)

“They’re currently working on their next novel.” (Although, they’re currently scrolling Instagram and wondering if scrolling counts as “research.”)

I remember once flipping through the back of three different novels in a bookstore, and all three authors apparently lived in some version of a “quiet town with their loving family and pet.” For a moment, I thought maybe there was an actual Author Village somewhere, where writers lived identical lives in pastel houses with cats and golden retrievers, all sipping coffee as they “worked on their next novel.”

I sometimes think – If aliens read only author bios, they’d probably think Earth is a planet full of coffee addicts, cat owners, and people who are always ‘almost finished’ with their next big project.

Branding, Not Biography

The reason for this sameness is simple: author bios aren’t written to tell you the truth. They’re written to make you want to read our words.

They are branding blurbs disguised as personal facts. They take a messy, contradictory human being and shrink them into three sentences that sound interesting enough to convince you we’re worth your time.

That’s why the person who once went to Bali for a week immediately transforms into an “avid traveller.” The person who has written one short story in college suddenly becomes “passionate about literature.” And yes, I’m guilty too. I once described myself as “a morning person.” That was a straight-up fabrication. What I actually meant was: I woke up early once, and felt so proud of myself that I decided it was a new personality trait worth highlighting.

It’s not that bios are false in the malicious sense. It’s that they are selective. They exaggerate the quirky bits, polish out the flaws, and carefully align the author’s “brand” with what we think readers want to believe.

The Psychology of Self-Curation

But here’s the deeper part, and this is where it actually gets interesting. Author bios are just a miniature version of something all of us do every day.

We curate. We edit. We tell stories about ourselves, just as carefully as we write fiction. We cut out the boring chapters, highlight the dramatic ones, and occasionally embellish to keep things interesting.

Have you ever seen a dating profile? Nobody writes: “I get cranky when I’m hungry, avoid folding laundry until the last possible second, and spend too much money on delivery food.” Instead, they write: “I love new experiences and cosy nights at home.” Same person, very different story.

It’s not lying in the strict sense; it’s storytelling. We craft identities the same way we craft characters — selective, memorable, and a little more polished than reality. Because who, really, wants to hear about your deeply embarrassing playlist choices?

If Bios Were Brutally Honest…

Now, imagine for a second that we stripped away all the branding and told the truth in our bios. They would probably look a little more like this:

“She procrastinates daily and Googles ‘synonyms for beautiful’ far too often.”

“He lives with crushing self-doubt and occasionally opens Word documents before deciding a snack is more urgent.”

“They are not working on their next novel. They are, in fact, binge-watching Netflix and eating cereal out of the box.”

And honestly? I would find these bios far more comforting. At least they feel real.

So here’s mine, if we’re doing brutal honesty: “Ritish wrote this blog while travelling in a metro. He rewrote this very sentence seven times before deciding it was still not good enough. He enjoys the idea of long walks but mostly just walks to the fridge. He has a growing collection of unfinished drafts and books and an even bigger collection of snack wrappers on his desk.”

There. Now don’t you feel closer to me already?

A Story from the “Bio Closet”

I once had to submit a short bio for a magazine feature. You’d think, as someone who loves words, I’d nail it in five minutes. Instead, I sat staring at the blinking cursor for over an hour, debating whether to sound “professional” or “relatable.”

Do I mention my job? My hobby? That time I learned to juggle for a week before forgetting entirely? Do I try to be funny, or is that trying too hard? Eventually, I cobbled together something along the lines of: “He is passionate about storytelling and enjoys travel, photography, and meaningful conversations.” It looked nice, polished, professional.

But here’s the real scene at that moment: I was in sweatpants, surrounded by empty snack packets, rewatching The Office for the third time that year, and very much not in the middle of a meaningful conversation.

That’s when I realised something important: bios aren’t about telling me who I am. They’re about telling you who you might want me to be.

The Serious Twist

And here’s where I put down the jokes for a minute: if every author bio is a lie, then maybe every version of ourselves we put out into the world is also a lie — or at least, a curated story.

Your LinkedIn bio, your Instagram captions, the “About Me” you wrote three jobs ago, even the way you describe yourself to new friends. None of it is the whole truth. It’s just the version of the truth that feels useful at the time.

We are constantly editing ourselves. Not because we’re deceitful, but because real life is messy, contradictory, and rarely fits neatly into three sentences.

Maybe that’s the point. Just like in stories, we are all works in progress, revising our drafts as we go, adjusting our tone depending on the audience. The “bio” you see is only one version of me, but so is the one my friends see, or my parents, or even myself on a tired Monday morning.

So, What’s the Takeaway?

The next time you come across an author bio that says something like, “He loves sunsets and strong coffee,” don’t roll your eyes too much. Just remember: it’s not the whole truth. Behind that carefully written line is a person who has likely written it at 2 a.m., surrounded by cold tea, half-finished drafts, and a head full of doubts about whether anyone will even care to read it.

Including me. Especially me.

And maybe that’s okay. Because the truth is, none of us can be summed up in a neat little bio. The most interesting parts of who we are – the contradictions, the struggles, the unpolished bits – are the very things that never make it into print.

So, yes: every author bio is a lie. But every lie is also a story. And stories, in the end, are what make us human.

End of bio. Or at least, one version of it.

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