What About Me: The Self Beyond the Profile

What About Me: The Self Beyond the Profile

Every digital platform asks the same thing: “Tell us about yourself.” Whether it’s a social media bio, an author profile, a gaming app, or a job application, we’re invited—sometimes required—to summarize who we are. And so we sit down to write our “About Me.” But how often do we stop and ask: What about me? What’s really at stake in this strange little performance?

The Curated Mirror

Let’s start with the obvious: every “About Me” is a version of ourselves. Not a lie, not exactly, but a curated snapshot. On LinkedIn, I might be the efficient book editor. On Instagram, maybe I’m family oriented, a warm friend, and an unassuming auntie. On a blog like this? I’m academic, reflective, a little meta.

None of these are fake. But none of them are the whole picture either. Each one is shaped by where it appears, who I think is reading, and what I want them to think. That’s not necessarily a bad thing—it’s just how digital life works. Platforms reward clarity, relatability, and coherence. If I’m too messy, too vague, or too honest, I might give the wrong impression and get a mismatched attention. So I craft a version of myself that I’m comfortable with as my introverted self finds uploading pictures uncomfortable.

The Pressure to Perform

The “About Me” isn’t just language—it’s performance. It’s self-marketing. And that can come with emotional weight. When the bio becomes more recognizable than the person writing it, something gets lost. You might start asking yourself not “Who am I?” but “Who do they think I am?” And then: “Can I keep being that version?”

That’s when the gap between the inner self and the projected self starts to widen. We begin to feel like actors in our own lives, trying to stay in character. It can be subtle. You might hesitate to share something that doesn’t align with your established identity. Or you might feel pressure to keep being “productive,” “fun,” “creative,” whatever adjective your profile suggests.

So again: what about me? Not the bio version. The quiet one. The evolving one. The one that doesn’t always know what to say or write.

The Power in Self-Narration

But this isn’t a rant against bios or profiles. In fact, the “About Me” can be powerful—especially for people whose stories often get told by others. Choosing how to describe yourself can be an act of reclaiming your voice. It’s how you resist stereotypes, assert your values, and define your space in the world.

For someone who’s been marginalized, erased, or misunderstood, a well-written “About Me” isn’t just personal—it’s political. Saying “I’m queer,” “I’m disabled,” “I’m an artist,” “I’m from this place”—those are powerful declarations. They don’t just describe; they demand to be seen on your own terms.

But even then, the performance never ends. Even the most empowering self-descriptions require upkeep. They freeze a moment in time and sometimes struggle to keep up with who you’re becoming.

Holding Space for Uncertainty

Maybe the most radical thing we can do is admit that we’re not finished. That we’re still figuring it out. That the “About Me” is, at best, a rough draft.

But that’s hard to do online. Platforms don’t love ambiguity. Bios have character limits. People skim. There’s pressure to be sharp, clear, memorable.

And yet, real people are blurry. We’re inconsistent, we change, we contradict ourselves. What if the “About Me” could make space for that too? For doubt, for transition, for growth?

So, What About Me?

What about me when I’m not performing? What about the parts of me that don’t fit into a profile box? What about the selves I’ve let go of and the ones I haven’t met yet?

Maybe we can approach the “About Me” not as a final answer but as a question in progress. A living document. A snapshot, sure—but one we have permission to change. Often.

The real “About Me” can’t be fully captured in words. It lives in the choices we make when no one’s watching, in the relationships we nurture, in the conversations that shift our thinking, and in the silences we protect. Even without the formal performance of an “About Me,” we are constantly asserting our existence—by showing up, by being here, by continuing to choose life.