Short Aesthetic Bio Novels & Stories

“TiaRose...I like that. It gives people enough to know who I am without giving away my whole identity." "TiaRose it is," I said, typing it in. “Oh, it’s taken. TiaRose98 will have to do!” Next came the 'About Me' section. This was the part where most people failed. They either wrote a novel or said something generic. I needed something that captured the real Tia—the girl who cried at cat commercials but could also tear a plot hole to shreds. "What should we put for the bio?" I asked. "Loves books, hates spoilers, and is looking for someone who doesn't mind a girl who reads at the dinner table. Must love cats." Marissa joked, appearing with a fresh bowl of popcorn.

I left some space between us to not make him feel like he was caged. "Hey", he greeted looking me over. When he was done I felt a sting of pain because he seemed uninterested still. He probably didn't recognize me from earlier because of the makeup and the wig that I wore and the contact lenses. I really didn't want anyone to know that I stripped and shot porn movies for a living when I was not working at the boutique as a sales assistant. No, I told myself pushing down the tumultuous feelings that were threatening to spill. I smiled an easy and warm smile hoping that would put him more at ease.

I scrolled to his bio. Hi I’m Gabe! I like long walks on the Miami beaches, Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain. My temples tensed subconsciously at first and then with an irritated squint. No wonder he had picked my bio- we were practically twins. Does he really think this works, I thought. Attractive guys can be so naïve. This bio is going to work well in his future blog post. I had almost stopped reading at the end of the sentence but something drew my eyes to the rest of his bio.

I created a quick profile, put up a blurry photo that showed my body but not my face, and wrote a simple bio: “21, horny, need to be used tonight. No names. No drama. Just rough sex.” I hit post and waited, heart beating fast.

I pull it out slowly, unfolding it slowly like it might bite me. His I*******m handle is scrawled in sharp black ink. I stare at it for a few long seconds before letting out a breath and opening the search bar. “A little I***a-stalking won’t hurt anything,” I mumble to myself. The screen loads, and I blink at the header. His profile picture is a black-and-white photo of him with a sculpture in the background. His username is just his name. His bio just says: Sculpteur. Paris. Matière et émotion: Sculptor. Paris. Material and emotion.

I searched anyway. Sienna Voss came up on the fourth result. Her profile picture was enough to make my stomach drop quietly, the way an elevator does when it starts moving. She was beautiful in an effortless way, dark blonde hair, easy smile, the kind of confidence that photographed well without trying. Her bio said Eagles Athletics. Sports Management Junior.

The photo was all sharp, intimidating angles—a jawline that could cut glass, steely blue eyes that seemed to look right through the camera, and a suit that probably cost more than my tuition for a semester. His bio was succinct: "Seeking a sophisticated companion for discreet evenings and intellectual stimulation." Intellectual stimulation. Right. I could do that. I was a goddamn art history grad student, for Christ’s sake. I could talk Baroque symbolism until his eyes glazed over. I took a shaky breath and clicked ‘Message.’

And started a new account. Then there was a blank field where I needed to create a username. I looked up at the ceiling, thinking, don’t overthink… and ran my thumbs over the keypad. In the username field I typed: Y E N A. And for the bio: Limited Release Plus-Size Eveningwear by Y E N A – Every Dress is Handmade & One of a Kind. I took a quick selfie. It was good. My hair was splayed all around my face, gold on a pink pillowcase that I then noticed matched my lipstick.