Somewhere there is a creator posting four times a day, and their link page has fourteen links on it, and three of those point at something that stops working on Friday. Good for them. That page is a schedule. It needs feeding twice a week or it starts to lie.
Yours does not have to be that.
If you post once a week, or once a fortnight, or once when the mood and the lighting agree, the page in your bio is doing a different job. It is not a noticeboard for this week's activity. It is the thing that catches someone who watched a video, thought about it for a second, and tapped. Those people arrive at unpredictable times, including three months after you posted, which is exactly when a page full of expired announcements starts to look like a shop with the lights off.
So the goal is not a busy page. The goal is a page that is still true in six months without you touching it.
Posting weekly is not the page's problem
A link page has no idea what your posting cadence is. It cannot tell. Nobody who lands on it can tell either, unless you have told them, and the only thing that makes a page read as neglected is content that has aged out and stayed up. A drop that ended. A code that expired. A countdown to a date in the past. A link labelled "my newest video" that now points at something from March.
That is the actual failure. Not silence. Staleness.
And staleness is cheap to avoid, because it is one decision per link, made once, at the moment you add it. Will this still be true and useful in six months, or does it have an end date? If it has an end date, you have taken on a small obligation to come back and remove it. Collect three or four of those obligations and you have quietly built a second content job, which is the thing you were trying not to have.
I would keep the number of dated things on a page at one. Sometimes zero is correct and nothing bad happens.
What deserves to be permanent
There are usually four candidates, and most quiet creators need three of them.
The first is the thing you want someone to have. A product, a shop, a guide, a booking form, an app. If you sell anything at all, this is the link, and it goes at the top, above your face if the layout allows and above everything else if it does not. Somebody who has already decided to buy should not have to scroll past your Instagram icon to do it.
The second is evidence that a person is involved. Your photo, your name, and a line that says what you make. Not a mission. What you make.
The third is a way to reach you. An email address, a form, an open DM. This matters more for small operations than large ones, because at your size one conversation can turn into a sale, a collaboration, or somebody telling you that your checkout is broken on Android. Large brands can afford to hide their contact details behind a help centre. You cannot, and you should not want to.
The fourth, optional, is a back catalogue. A playlist, a pinned collection, an archive of the thing you make. Useful when someone has seen exactly one video of yours and wants to know whether there is more. Not useful if it is a link to your own profile on the platform they just came from, which happens more often than you would expect.
That is the whole page. Three or four links that survive a change of season without editing.
What to take off, and the test for it
Open your page as it stands, if you have one. For each link, ask whether you would be happy with a stranger tapping it right now, with no context, on a wet Tuesday in February.
The things that tend to fail: discount codes that ended, pre-order links for something that already shipped, a Discord with eleven members and no messages since spring, a newsletter you stopped writing, an "under construction" placeholder, a second link page belonging to an older version of you, and affiliate links to products you no longer use. Also anything labelled "latest", which is a promise you have to keep by hand, forever, with no reminder.
Delete rather than hide. A hidden link is a decision you have agreed to make again later.
Seasonal work is the sensible exception. If you sell a thing at Christmas and nothing at all at Easter, it is reasonable to keep that link somewhere rather than rebuild it every November. Scheduling handles this, and I will come to it.
Where Relay fits, and what it costs
We built Relay with roughly this reader in mind, so treat this section as us describing our own product rather than as neutral advice.
The free plan has no card and no time limit. It gives you unlimited links, your own photo and bio, social icons, five themes, headings and dividers, a QR code, and a story-sized share image. Tap and view counts are on the free plan too, and for somebody who posts weekly they matter more than they sound. If a link gets zero taps across two months, that is not a mystery to investigate, it is a link to remove. The page gets shorter, the surviving links get a bigger share of attention, and the whole exercise takes about four minutes.
Headings and dividers are the other quiet tool. They let you separate the permanent section from anything temporary, so the temporary part is visually obvious and you notice it when you next look at your own page. A single undifferentiated stack of buttons hides its own rot very effectively.
Pro is $30 a year or $4 a month plus VAT. The relevant piece here is scheduled links: you set a start and an end date, and the link removes itself when the sale is over, whether or not you remember it exists. Pro also adds all 47 themes, all 8 fonts, custom colours, a background image, per-link images, inline players, email capture, and removal of the Relay badge. Data sits in the European Union, fonts are self-hosted, there is no advertising and no third-party analytics. If none of that is worth thirty dollars to you, the free plan is not a trial and does not expire.
Where Relay is part of the problem
Forty-seven themes is a lot of themes.
Eight fonts, custom colours, background images and per-link images will absorb an afternoon without effort, and an afternoon spent choosing a background is an afternoon not spent making the thing you are linking to. For someone who posts once a week, the page is the smallest piece of the work by a distance, and we have built something capable of taking far more attention than it deserves. Pick a theme in two minutes. Change it in six months if you get bored.
There is also what Relay does not do. No custom domains, so the address is relayme.bio slash your name. No payments, so if you are selling, the money changes hands somewhere else: Shopify, Gumroad, Stripe, an app store. The page points at those, it does not replace them. If you are still deciding what that somewhere else should be, TikTok Shop vs Shopify vs just a link walks through the trade-offs, and we keep an honest comparison with Linktree that includes four rows where Linktree is the better answer.
Do not promise a lifestyle you do not have
The worst bios are not badly written. They are written for a different person.
"Helping creators build freedom." "Daily inspiration." "Full-time creator, part-time dreamer." These are borrowed from accounts with a hundred thousand followers and a content calendar, and when they sit above four links and a photo taken in somebody's kitchen, the gap between the claim and the evidence does something unhelpful. A visitor cannot articulate it, but they feel it, and feeling it makes them fractionally less likely to trust the buy button.
The repair is dull and effective. Say what you make and roughly how often. "I make ceramic mugs in Leeds. New batch most months." "Spreadsheet templates for freelancers. One or two a month, sometimes fewer." Nobody has ever declined to buy a mug because the maker admitted to making mugs slowly. A modest, accurate bio also means the page never contradicts itself, which is the entire point of building something you do not have to maintain.
One more note on the word daily. If your bio says daily and you post weekly, you have written a complaint about yourself and pinned it to your own front door.
One honest next step
Every page should have a single thing it would most like a visitor to do. Buy this. Read this. Join this. Email me about this.
You can have other links, and you should. But you should know which one is the point, it should sit at the top, and the words on it should describe what happens after the tap rather than being clever. "Buy the winter mug, £24" beats "Shop". "Email me about commissions" beats "Contact". Clever wording costs the reader a second of interpretation, and a second is a great deal to ask of someone who is half watching something else.
If you are not sure what your next step is yet, because you have not sold anything, that is a reasonable place to be and not a reason to delay the page. How to make your first sale online covers the sequence, and how long until the first sale covers the timeline, which is usually longer than people expect and shorter than they fear. If you are thinking of paying to send strangers to the page, read what $50 of ads actually buys you before you spend it.
Ten minutes, once a month
Here is the maintenance, in full. Open the page on your phone the way a stranger would. Tap every link and check it still goes where you think. Look at the tap counts and remove anything sitting at zero. Check the bio still describes what you currently do. Close the tab.
That is the job. Not weekly. Monthly, and if you skip a month nothing breaks, because the page is made of things that do not expire.
A page that needs no feeding is not a lesser page. It is a page that keeps working on the weeks you do not.
If you want to try it, the free plan takes about ten minutes and does not ask for a card.