The colors: beige with pops of light pink and blue. 

The website copy: as colorless as the “clean” white background meant to “highlight the images” with its minimalism.

No contractions. No deep connection. No personality.

Basically, it looked like every other damn website for every other damn photographer ever.

Yep! My first website was a crappy, blend-in-with-the-sea-of-khaki dud.

I did what I saw everyone else doing, because I thought that was the right way to get the right customers. You know the high-income families with perfect teeth—and perfect body fat distribution—who don’t mind dropping $5K on yearly photos.

The Problem with my website copy?

It wasn’t even aimed at the clients I wanted to work with. 😬

I wanted to serve people who looked & felt like me. Women with curvy bodies and leftover baby weight. Families who loved each other, but didn’t look like they just stepped out of the cover of Parents magazine. People living paycheck to paycheck, but still wanted to preserve their family memories.

But everyone told me the same thing:

“Keep it short.”
“Sound professional.”
“Don’t be too casual — you’ll scare off serious clients.”

So, I stripped every ounce of personality from my copy.

I made sure it was so polished and perfect that my high school English teacher would give me an A++.
I told people my coffee order—even though I didn’t even drink coffee.

And I waited for the clients to come.
They didn’t.

Not because I wasn’t “professional enough.” 

But because I was 1) trying to talk to people I didn’t even want to work with and 2) I sounded (and looked) like every other damn photographer.

The Misconception

“Professional” copy = polished, perfect, and personality-free.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that we have to be impersonal to be credible. That professional means bland.

But here’s the thing:
People don’t want to buy from some fuck-ass faceless brand.

People want to buy from real humans who understand them — their quirks, frustrations, insecurities, and oddly specific dreams (like having a website they’re proud of).

The Fix

There isn’t one “right” way to write a website—though there are plenty of wrong ways.

The trick is to write for your people, while still sounding like you—not like some watered-down corporate brand voice you found on Google.

Before you write another headline, ask yourself:

• What problem/need does this fix/help with?
• If money weren’t a thing, who would I serve?
• What would a perfect customer experience look like from start to finish?
• Why am I the right person for them to do business with? What sets me apart?
• Where do our paths intersect? I.e., What do we have in common?
  

When you know who you’re writing to, you stop writing for “everyone.” And that’s when the right people finally start paying attention.

 Bonus Tips (a.k.a. Things I Wish Someone Told Me Sooner)

• Talk to one person at a time.
  If your copy sounds like it’s yelling into a crowded room, you’ve already lost them. Envision a specific person and talk directly to them.
• Show up as your everyday self.
  Your natural tone builds more trust than the most perfectly polished paragraph ever could.
• Keep it simple.
  Each page should have one clear goal: tell them what you do, who it’s for, and what to do next. Anything else is noise.
• You can have multiple audiences — just not on the same page.
  If you offer different services for different people, that’s fine. Just make sure each one has its own distinct message.

Final Plot Twist

Your ideal clients shouldn’t be the ones that will pay the most—they should be the ones that align with your message.

Because here’s the truth:
When you write like everyone else, you disappear into the khaki-colored haze. But when you write like you, it creates a connection brighter than a neon pink gel pen—and way easier to read.

Your website doesn’t need to sound perfect; it needs to sound like the real you.

Now that you know why your voice matters, don’t hand your copy to someone who writes like a LinkedIn robot. 😘 Work with the gal who actually writes like a human. Head to my services page to see how.
And if this hit home—share, save, or subscribe, homie.