Three parts: the problem your customer has, what you do about it, and how their life is better. It has to start with the problem — and that is where nearly every one I am handed goes wrong.
A one-liner is what you say when somebody asks what you do. It has three parts: the problem your customer is facing, what you do about it, and how their life is better afterwards.
Write those three separately, then join them. That is the whole method.
Start with the problem. Not your company name, not how long you have been in business. The customer is the hero of this sentence — and if it opens with you, most people never reach the rest of it.
A one-liner is a short statement that names the problem your customer is facing, what you do about it, and how their life is better afterwards.
You will use it more than anything else you write. When somebody asks what you do. At the top of your homepage. In your email signature, on the back of a card, in the first line of a proposal. It is the shortest complete version of your whole message.
I watched one do its job in real time. I was at a business leaders event, three hundred people in the room, and the man beside me spent ten minutes explaining what his company didn’t do. He would start describing a problem in his industry, walk me into it, and then say — but we don’t really do that. He got there in the end: his company installs rubber liners on flat commercial roofs. Ten minutes to arrive at one sentence.
Then he asked what I did.
He leaned in. You could watch it happen. The difference between us was not that my business is more interesting than commercial roofing. It is that I had decided what to say before I got there.
Because you know your business too well.
You have been inside it for years. Everything about it feels obvious to you, and the things that are genuinely interesting to a customer have become the weather — too familiar to notice. So when someone asks what you do, one of two things comes out.
You list what you sell. “We do commercial roofing, gutters, siding and storm restoration.” True, and it tells the person nothing about whether you can help them.
Or you start with your company. “We’re a family-owned business, been serving the area since 1998…” Also true. Also not what they asked.
Neither is a failure of writing. Both are what happens when you start from the inside of the business and work outwards — which is the natural direction to think, and the wrong direction to write.
The three parts below turn you around. You start from where the customer is standing and work back towards yourself, and by the time you mention your own business the reader already wants to hear about it.
What your customer is struggling with, in their words.
If you take one thing from this page, take this one. Your one-liner has to begin here. Not with your company name, not with what you sell, not with how long you have been doing it.
This is the single most common error I see when a business owner tries to write their own. It comes out as “We’re a roofing company…” or “We’ve been serving the area since 1998…” — and both are true, and both start in the wrong place.
Think about what is happening in the reader’s head. They came with a problem. Until they believe you understand it, nothing else you say is interesting — not your years in business, not your certifications, not your family-owned story. Those things matter later, and they only matter once the person has decided you might be able to help.
Open with their problem and you have answered the only question they are actually asking: does this person get it? Open with yourself and they are still waiting for you to say something about them.
It is also the only one of the three parts that is not about your business, which is exactly why it is the hardest to write and the one people rush.
Write it the way your customer would say it out loud to a friend — not the way your industry says it. A homeowner does not say they require roof remediation. They say the ceiling has a stain on it and it is getting bigger.
Two questions that get you there:
What does this person say about the problem when they are venting rather than explaining?
What were they doing five minutes before they decided to call someone?
The mistake almost everyone makes: describing the practical problem and stopping there. The roof leaks. The books are behind. The phone is not ringing. All accurate, all forgettable — because underneath each one is a feeling, and the feeling is what makes somebody pick up the phone today rather than next spring.
Lying awake when it rains. Dreading the accountant’s email. Watching a competitor get the jobs you used to get. Name that, and the person reading knows you have met someone like them before.
What you do about it.
This part is short, and it should be. One thing — the thing that fixes the problem you just named. Not everything you offer.
Listing services here is the most common way a good one-liner goes wrong. The moment you write “roofing, siding, gutters and storm restoration” you have handed the reader a menu and asked them to work out which item applies to them. They will not. Name the one thing that answers the problem, and let the rest of your website carry the range.
The test: could this sentence be true of your competitor down the road? If yes, it is too general to be worth the words.
It also helps to say it as an action rather than a category. “We handle the whole claim” lands harder than “full-service storm restoration,” because one of those is something you do and the other is something you are.
How their life is better afterwards.
Not what you deliver. What changes for them.
“We install a new roof” is a deliverable. “You stop checking the ceiling every time it rains” is a result. Same job, and only one of them describes a life the reader recognises as better than the one they have.
The mistake here: stopping at the moment your work ends. Your finish line is the completed job. Theirs is a Tuesday three months later when they have stopped thinking about it altogether. Write that Tuesday.
If you want to go one step further: say who they get to be, not just what they get. “So you can sell your business” is an outcome. “So you can sell your business and have the freedom to do whatever comes next” is a person. More on that here.
Here is the method running from a blank page. The company is invented — Brightside Facilities, a commercial building maintenance firm — so nothing here is anybody’s real copy being taken apart.
The owner’s first attempt at describing the business, before any of this:
Nothing in that is wrong. There is also nobody in it. Now the three parts, one at a time.
Who is buying this, and what is actually going wrong for them? An office or property manager. Something breaks, and either they drop what they are doing or it gets worse. Then they call whoever they can find, and half the time that makes it worse again.
One thing. Not “comprehensive facility management solutions” — what do they actually do when the call comes in?
What is different for that property manager afterwards? Two things: the problem goes away quickly, and the people in the building notice they are looked after.
Read that next to where the owner started. The second one is longer — forty-five words against thirty-eight — and it is far easier to say out loud. Length was never the problem.
And nothing was given up to get there. Every claim in the original survives the rewrite:
| What the first version claimed | Where it went |
|---|---|
| Commercial building maintenance | Keeping a building running |
| Full-service provider | Handles the repairs |
| Vetted contractor network | Brings its own vetted trades |
| Comprehensive facility management | Problems get fixed fast |
| (unstated) | Your team works somewhere that looks after them |
Four claims in, four claims out — plus one the first version never made at all, which is the part a customer actually cares about. Simplifying a one-liner does not cost you what it says. It usually adds something.
Once the bones are right, the sentence can change shape without changing meaning. When a client hires me they get five versions, because the version you say at a table and the version you put on a homepage are not the same sentence — and neither is the one that has to fit under your name on a conference badge.
Same three parts underneath all of them. Here is my own, five ways.
Straight down the middle — problem, solution, results. This is the one that goes in your messaging document and gets used in written materials.
For a networking event, a discovery call, the person next to you at a table. Shorter sentences, contractions, no throat-clearing.
For a business card, an email signature, an ad, the line under your name. I went back through Donald Miller’s own examples and counted — nearly all of his come in at thirty words or fewer. It is harder than it sounds, and it is the version that tells you whether you really know what you do.
Plain enough that nobody has to work at it, not so plain that a professional feels talked down to. In my experience this is the register that belongs at the top of a website.
Stripped to the studs. You may never publish this version, and it is still worth writing: if you cannot say it this simply, you are not finished thinking.
One thing worth doing on purpose: notice that “stop guessing” survives in three of those five. Pick a phrase you want repeated back to you and carry it through every version. That is the bit people quote.
Finished one-liners from real businesses, with the three parts marked so you can see the shape underneath.
Problem: selling a business is hard, and harder alone. Solution: confidentially value, list and market it. Results: the freedom to do whatever comes next.
Two things this one does that most do not. The solution names their actual process in three verbs rather than calling itself full-service. And it ends on a person rather than a transaction — not “so you can sell,” but who you get to be once you have.
Problem: stuck and alone. Solution: connects you with people who do exactly what you do. Results: you solve real problems and grow.
This one opens with a question, which is unusual and works here because the problem is a feeling rather than a fault. It also names the competition it is beating — conferences — without ever saying a word against them.
Problem: no time, and the wrong contractor makes it worse. Solution: handles repairs with its own vetted trades. Results: fixed fast, and your team is looked after.
It starts with you. This is the big one, and it is worth repeating: if the first words are your company name, or what you sell, or how long you have been doing it, you have written an introduction rather than a one-liner. Start with their problem. They will care about you a sentence later, once they believe you understand them.
It lists services. A menu is not a message. Name one problem and one answer to it.
It smuggles in credentials. Awards, years in business, “award-winning” anything. Those belong on the page around the one-liner, not inside it. In a sentence this short, every word spent on your credibility is a word not spent on their problem.
It ends at the deliverable. Your work finishing is not the same as their life improving. Go one step past the handover.
Read it out loud to someone. Not to check whether they are impressed — watch whether they lean in, and whether the next thing they say is a question about their own situation. That is the sound of a one-liner working.
If you stumble reading it, it is too long. If they nod politely, the problem is probably part one.
A one-liner is a short statement that names the problem your customer is facing, what you do about it, and how their life is better afterwards. You use it when someone asks what you do, at the top of your homepage, and anywhere you have one sentence to explain your business.
Short enough to say in one breath, which usually means one to three sentences. Under thirty words anywhere it has to be read quickly, such as a business card or an email signature. Length matters less than most people think — a longer one-liner in short sentences is easier to say than a shorter one in long ones.
The problem your customer is struggling with, the solution you provide, and the results they get. Write each part separately before you try to join them; almost everyone who gets stuck is stuck on the problem, because it is the only part that is not about their own business.
Yes, but not first. Lead with the customer’s problem and bring your name in as the answer to it. If your company name is the first thing in the sentence, the sentence is about you.
Write one for each of them, then look for the language they share. The shared version is what you say out loud and what goes on your homepage; the specific versions go on the pages where a visitor has already told you which one they are. How that works in practice.
Out of your BrandScript — the one-page document that works out who your customer is, what is in their way, and what you do about it. If the one-liner is hard to write, it is usually because that groundwork has not been done yet. Start there instead.
Ninety minutes on a call. You talk, I ask the questions, and you leave with your message written down and a one-liner in every version you need. Messaging campaigns start at $1,500.

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