Simple, Heartfelt Wedding Vows for Him

Twelve vow skeletons sorted by how long they actually take to say out loud — 30, 60 and 90 seconds — plus the word-count meter that tells you whether what you have written will fit the ceremony.

Nearly every set of wedding vows that goes wrong goes wrong in the same two ways, and both are fixable before you write a word. The first is length. People write vows on paper, where 400 words looks modest, and then discover on the day that 400 words is well over three minutes of a room holding its breath — and that they are the second of two people speaking. The second is altitude: vows drift upward into abstraction, into forever and always and the rest of my life, and abstraction is exactly the register in which everybody's vows sound identical.

The cure for both is the same. Write low and write short. "I promise to keep making you laugh when you are furious about work" is a better vow than "I promise to bring you joy", not because it is cleverer but because it is checkable — it describes something you actually do, on a Tuesday, in your real life. The specific detail is also the thing that stops your partner crying in a good way rather than a polite way. If a line could be said by any two people getting married anywhere, cut it or make it concrete.

Simple does not mean unromantic and it does not mean short on feeling. It means using the words you use. Do not write "I shall endeavour" if you have never endeavoured at anything in your life. Read every draft out loud, standing up — vows are spoken, not read, and a sentence that works on a page but makes you run out of breath halfway is a sentence that will fail you in front of everyone you know. If you stumble in the kitchen, you will stumble at the altar.

One last piece of practical advice that has saved a great many people: agree the shape with him beforehand. Not the content — the shape. Same rough length, same number of promises, same broad register, so that one of you does not deliver ninety seconds of gentle comedy immediately after the other has delivered three minutes of tears. You are not comparing homework; you are making sure the two halves of the same moment fit together.

The word-count meter

Vows are spoken slowly — considerably more slowly than you think, because you will pause, because your voice will go, and because you will look at him. Plan at about 100 words a minute rather than the 130 to 150 of ordinary speech. Write to the count in this table and then time yourself out loud to confirm.

12 vow skeletons, by spoken length

Fill the brackets with the actual thing, not the general version of the thing. "[small domestic detail]" means the toothpaste cap, the parking-space argument, the way he makes tea for the whole house at eleven at night — not "the little things".

Four 30-second skeletons (~50 words)

• The plain one. "[Name], I choose you. I promise to [promise 1], to [promise 2], and to [promise 3]. I will still be choosing you when we are [old-age image]. That is all I have got, and I mean every word of it."
• The one detail. "Everyone here knows [small domestic detail about him]. That is who I am marrying. I promise to [promise 1] and to [promise 2], for as long as you will have me."
• The before-and-after. "Before you, I [how life was]. Since you, I [what changed]. I promise to [promise 1] and to [promise 2]. Thank you for [ordinary thing he does]."
• The list. "I promise you [promise 1]. I promise you [promise 2]. I promise you [promise 3]. I promise you [light, funny promise]. And I promise to keep promising."

Four 60-second skeletons (~100 words)

• The moment I knew. Open on a specific scene — "[place], [what he was doing], [what you thought]" — then three promises, then close by returning to that same image one sentence later in your life.
• The ordinary Tuesday. Describe one unremarkable evening in detail. Say that this, not the wedding, is the thing you are signing up for. Two promises about hard days, one promise about easy ones.
• What you have taught me. Name one thing you were wrong about before him. Say what he changed. Promise to keep letting him change your mind, plus two promises about how you will treat him while he does it.
• The two lists. "Here is what I know about you" — four concrete details, one of them funny. "Here is what I promise" — three promises that answer them directly, in the same order.

Four 90-second skeletons (~150 words)

• Three chapters. How we met, the hardest year, now. One sentence each, then four promises, then a single closing line no longer than eight words.
• The witness. "I have watched you [thing he did that nobody clapped for]." Two of those. Then promise to keep being the person who sees it, plus three ordinary promises.
• The house. Build the whole thing out of your actual home — the rooms, the routines, who does what, the running argument. Promise inside that world rather than above it. Close by naming one thing you will never change.
• The honest one. Name one real thing you are not good at. Promise to keep working on it. Then three promises about him, and a closing line that gives the whole thing away in plain words.

Practical notes for the day

• Print them. Do not read them off a phone — the screen sleeps, the notification arrives, the hands shake more than you expect.
• 16pt or larger, double-spaced, one side of card. Paper flaps and gives your hands away; card does not.
• Give a copy to your celebrant or a bridesmaid. If you lose the card between the car and the aisle, you have not lost the vows.
• Mark your breathing points with a slash. You will speak faster than you rehearsed.
• Say his name early. It settles you, and it settles the room.
• Do not memorise them. Reading vows is normal and nobody minds; forgetting them mid-sentence is the thing you are actually afraid of.
• Check the legal wording separately — in most places the vows you write are in addition to a set form of words the officiant must have you say, not instead of it.

Frequently asked questions