The Polite Decline: Why a Short 'Not for Me' List Beats a Long Services Page

Most creative websites read like a takeaway menu. A long list of things you can order, priced by the job, with a friendly photo at the top. There's nothing wrong with that. But it's an incomplete picture. A menu that only says yes isn't really a menu — it's a wish list. And the most useful paragraph on your site might be the one that quietly says: not this.

I'm not talking about a rant page. No locked door, no list of grievances, no pointed remarks about unnamed villains. I mean a short, calm section that tells a stranger what you don't do, so both of you can get on with your day.

Refusals do the qualifying for you

Every enquiry you get costs you something. Not just the hour on the call, but the mental load of working out whether it's a fit. A clear refusal does that work before the email arrives. It filters the brief that was never going to suit you, and it makes the right brief feel more confident about getting in touch.

There's a second benefit, and it's less obvious. Refusals signal taste. Anyone can say they do branding, web design, motion, copy and a bit of photography. Saying what you've deliberately left out tells a reader you've thought about it. That reads as experience, not arrogance — provided you get the wording right.

The line between a boundary and a brag

The difference is usually about who the sentence is pointed at. 'I only work with serious clients' is a brag dressed up as a standard. It makes the reader prove themselves before they've said hello. 'I don't take on projects that need to launch inside a fortnight, because the work needs time to settle' is a boundary with a reason attached. One closes the door. The other explains where the door is.

A useful test: does the sentence tell the reader something they can use, or does it tell them something about you? If it's the second, rewrite it until it's the first. Confidence is quiet. Arrogance tends to be loud, and it tends to be long.

How to word it without sounding precious

Keep the list short. Three to six items is plenty. Specific beats sweeping. Vague refusals are worse than none at all.

Bad: 'I don't work with timewasters.'

Better: 'I don't take on briefs under £X, or projects that need delivery in under 48 hours. If that's you, these two studios are worth a look.'

That second version is a signpost. It saves the reader a wasted email, and it quietly tells everyone else that you know your own value. It also gives you somewhere to point when the awkward enquiry lands, which is a surprisingly useful thing to have.

A few practical rules I keep coming back to:

• Use the same plain language as the rest of the site. If your services page says 'brand identity', don't switch to 'holistic visual storytelling' for the refusals.
• Give a reason where it helps the reader, and skip it where it doesn't. 'I don't do rush jobs' is fine on its own.
• Offer the exit. Name a person or a studio who does the thing you don't. It costs nothing and it makes the refusal generous rather than grumpy.
• Leave out the pet peeves. Nobody needs to know you hate being CC'd.

Where it belongs on the page

Not in the hero. A homepage should still be a welcome mat, not a list of conditions. The natural home is the bottom of your services page, or a small 'how I work' block just above the contact form. A dedicated page only makes sense once you've got enough refusals to fill it — five or six at least — and a reason to link to it from more than one place.

The contact page is the real opportunity. A single line at the top — 'before you send a brief, here's what I don't do' — does more filtering than any form field. It also gives you a polite reply template for the enquiries that were never going to work. You can point at the page rather than composing a gentle rejection from scratch at 9pm.

The British awkwardness problem

We have a national talent for apologising for existing, which makes refusals feel riskier than they are. The trick is to reframe the section as help rather than judgement. 'Not for me' is not the same as 'you're wrong'. It's the difference between a shop assistant saying 'we don't stock that, try the place on the corner' and one who sighs at you for asking.

Write it as if you're doing someone a favour, because you are. The reader who needs a rush job now knows not to wait for your reply. The reader who needs exactly what you do now trusts you slightly more, because you've shown you're not desperate for every job that comes through the door.

A six-month test

Add the section. Keep it short. Then watch your enquiries for a few months. Usually three things happen. The obviously wrong briefs drop away. The calls get easier, because the first ten minutes aren't spent working out whether you're a match. And the site starts to sound like a person rather than a service list.

That's the whole point of a personal site. It's not a brochure. It's a set of choices, and choices are only visible when you say what you've left out. A short, generous 'not for me' paragraph won't lose you the right clients. It's more likely to be the reason they get in touch.