How to Announce Holidays, Hours and Changes Properly

The dullest post you will ever write is the one most people will actually read:

“Closed 10–24 August. Back on Monday the 25th.”

Say the dates, not “we’re taking a well-earned break”. Say them early. Say them again a few days before. And put them where someone looking for them will find them — the bio, the pinned post, the Google profile, not just a story that vanishes.

Nobody scrolls back three weeks to find out whether you are open. If they cannot see it, they assume the worst, or they ring you, or they go somewhere else.

Why this post outperforms your clever ones

Your followers are mostly your customers. They are not following you for inspiration; they are following you because they occasionally need to know something.

“Are they open on the Monday?” is a real question with a real cost attached. Answer it clearly and you have done something genuinely useful for the exact people who pay you — which is more than can be said for a sunset with a quote on it.

This is also the post that gets shared, quietly, in the way nothing else does: one customer sends it to another. Nobody forwards your motivational quote. They will absolutely forward “the garage is shut until the 25th” to their partner.

But won’t a dull post hurt my reach?

The fear is real: a plain notice gets no likes, and you feel you have wasted a slot on it. Worth being honest about.

Reach is not the job here. A holiday notice is not competing for strangers; it answers a question for the handful of people who were going to look you up this week anyway. If four regulars see it and one of them does not drive to a locked door, the post has done its whole job — likes or no likes.

And it barely costs you a slot. This is not the post that carries your week; your feed has other, better jobs and plenty to post on a quiet week. The notice just sits in the pin and the bio, doing one small useful thing.

Say the dates

The most common failure, and it is a failure of nerve.

“We’re taking a well-earned break — see you soon!” tells the reader nothing. Which days? Back when? Are you open on the Saturday before? Now she has to ask, and asking costs her enough friction that she may simply not bother.

Write it like a person who wants to be understood:

“Closed from Monday 10 to Sunday 24 August. Open again Monday 25, normal hours.”

Boring. Unambiguous. Perfect.

Same for anything else that changes:

• “From September we open at 8, not 9.”
• “Closed this Monday — bank holiday. Open Tuesday as usual.”
• “Prices go up from 1 October. Colour will be 95.”

Say it early, then say it again

One post, three weeks out, is not an announcement. It is a message that reached the twelve people who happened to be scrolling that afternoon.

Post it early — so people can plan — and post it again a few days before it takes effect, when it actually matters. Repeating yourself feels awkward and it is correct: a fortnight is an eternity in a feed, and most of your followers did not see the first one.

Then put it where it does not expire:

• Pin it to the top of your profile.
• Put it in the bio while it is live: “Closed 10–24 Aug”.
• Update your Google profile, which is where most people actually check. This is the one everyone forgets, and it is the one that matters most — a stranger who drives to a closed shop because Google said you were open does not blame Google.

A story disappears in a day. The people who needed this will look for it on the day they need it, which is exactly when the story is gone.

What it looks like over a fortnight

Picture a small trattoria that shuts for the first two weeks of August. Here is the whole job, and it takes minutes.

Late July, three weeks out, one post: “Closed 4–17 August. Open again Monday 18, normal hours. Booking’s open now if you want a table before we go.” Pinned to the top of the profile. The dates go straight into the bio and the Google listing the same afternoon.

Then nothing — until the Thursday before. The same message again, shorter: “Last service before the break is Saturday. Back Monday the 18th.” The regulars who missed the July post see it now, when it counts. If the break has a shape to it — the autumn menu’s back, say — a seasonal note fits here too, but the dates come first and the flavour after.

That is two posts, one pin, one Google update. No countdown, no sunset photo. A customer who wants Friday dinner in the second week of August gets a straight answer before she makes other plans — which is the only thing the post was ever for.

The price change

The one people agonise over, and the honest version is short.

Say it plainly, say it in advance, and do not apologise or explain at length. “Prices go up from 1 October — colour will be 95.”

Do not bury it. Do not hide it in a story. Do not spring it on someone at the till, which is the version that actually damages a relationship.

Customers accept price rises. What they do not accept is being surprised by one, and every extra sentence of justification you add makes it sound like you are ashamed of it.

Do not dress it up

Two failures, both born of the feeling that a boring post needs help.

Fake urgency. “Only 2 slots left before we close!” when there are eleven. It works once, on someone who does not check, and it costs you everything when they do. If the last Saturday before you close is genuinely full, say so — that is a fact and it is persuasive because it is true. Show the crowd, never build one.

A promotion attached to it. The holiday post is not a sales opportunity. Bolting “and book now for 20% off!” onto it turns a useful service announcement into an advert, and people stop reading your service announcements.

Let the useful post be useful. You have other posts for the other job.

When the closure is not planned

The holiday is the easy one — you have weeks. The hard one lands at seven in the morning: the boiler’s gone, a pipe burst overnight, the one person who does colour is off sick. You are shut today and did not know yesterday.

Same rules, faster. One line, the truth, no drama: “Closed today — burst pipe. Hoping to open tomorrow, will confirm here by 6pm.” Post it, pin it, and — the one people forget in a panic — mark the day closed on your Google profile, because that is where the person already halfway to your door is checking.

Then do the thing the planned post never needs: come back and close the loop. “All fixed. Open as normal from tomorrow.” An emergency notice with no follow-up leaves everyone guessing for a week, and the guess is always that you are still shut. The apology, if you want one, is a single line — customers forgive a burst pipe; what stings is being left in the dark.

And answer the questions it produces

The announcement will generate messages: “So are you open on the Saturday?” Yes, even though you wrote the dates. People skim.

Answer them. It takes a minute, and an unanswered question sitting in your Messenger from three weeks ago tells the next customer everything she needs to know about what happens when she messages you. Two windows a day is all it takes.

Write next month’s now

Look at the next thing that changes — the holiday, the bank Monday, the new hours — and write the post today, in one line, with the dates in it.

Pin it. Put it on Google. Repeat it a few days before.

That is thirty seconds of work, it is the most useful thing you will post all month, and it is the reason a customer does not drive across town to a locked door.