This Is Why I Don’t Do Templates

There are thousands of wedding vow templates and wedding speech examples online. Some are free. Some cost £24.99. Most come with the same kind of structure: a few sentence starters, a list of jokes, a couple of heartfelt phrases about “the moment you knew,” and some lightly sentimental filler to carry you through the awkward bits. They promise to make the whole thing easy. Quick. Painless.

And to be fair - some of them do. Sort of.

You’ll get something readable. Something polite. Something that sounds vaguely like what people expect to hear at a wedding. A few soft laughs, a safe emotional arc, a line about love that could apply to most couples. Your aunt might tear up. Your cousin will clap. And then everyone will promptly forget everything you said and move onto enjoying their starters.

And if that’s all you want - something technically fine and just moving enough to tick the box - then you probably don’t need me.

Because I’m not here to help you write a speech that’s “fine”. I’m here to help you say something that actually sounds like you.

As a wedding speech writer, I work with people who don’t usually write this way. They’re teachers, lawyers, engineers, florists, parents, people who are deeply articulate in their own domains but don’t always know how to name what something feels like - at least not in a way they’d be willing to say out loud, in a room filled with their closest friends and family.

Most of the time, they come to me after trying a template, or a free structure they found in a graphic on Pinterest or on TikTok. They’ll say, “It just doesn’t sound like me,” or “It felt like someone else wrote it.” And they’re right - because someone else did.

That’s the thing with templates: they’re built to minimise risk. Which means they’re also built to minimise truth. You won’t say the wrong thing, but you probably won’t say anything that really matters either.

When I write for someone - whether it’s a set of personal wedding vows, a groom’s speech, a maid of honour toast, or a bespoke ceremony reading - the part I care most about is voice. Not just what they want to say, but how they say it. The rhythm of their delivery. Their throwaway humour. The phrases they use without thinking. Whether they ramble when they get nervous. Whether they hold back or overshare. Whether they swear when they’re emotional, or joke when they don’t want to cry.

This is what makes a speech feel lived in, and makes sure it’s remembered and recognisable.

It’s in the way someone describes their partner’s laugh. The offhand reference to a weird nickname that’s never been explained to anyone. The pause before a vulnerable sentence. The line they almost didn’t include, but inside they are proud they decided to say it out loud after all.

That’s the texture that gets lost with a template. Because even the best one smooths over the little messes that make your voice your own. And that’s where all the meaning is - in the parts that weren’t pre-written, that don’t quite fit the formula, but are still true.

I’ve thought about creating a template. From a business perspective, it would be smart. I could create a vow-writing guide or a DIY speech kit and sell it as a lower-cost offering. It would be strategic, scalable, and entirely passive. And it would almost definitely sell.

But every time I consider it properly, I realise I can’t do it in good faith.

Because even if it was beautifully designed - even if it included questions I’d usually ask, or example lines I love - it would still flatten what makes a speech powerful. It would still ask you to write towards something that already exists, instead of from something that’s already yours. And that’s the wrong way round.

It would dilute what I’m trying to do here. And more importantly, it would dilute what you’re trying to say.

If I’m being completely honest - and this might sound harsh - I think if you’re leaning toward using a template, or you’re contemplating asking ChatGPT to write your wedding speech for you (don’t get me started on this one), it’s worth asking whether you actually want to give a speech at all.

Because this is vulnerable work. It’s not about being profound or clever. It’s about showing up and saying something that means something to the person you’re speaking to. That doesn’t require polish. But it does require care. And maybe even a little courage.

If you’re not ready to do that - that’s completely fine. You don’t have to do a speech. You don’t have to perform a version of yourself that doesn’t feel real. You’re allowed to sit the moment out.

But if you are going to speak - and you want the words to actually feel like yours - then I think it’s worth doing it properly.

That might mean writing it yourself. Sitting with it. Drafting and redrafting and getting there in your own time. Or it might mean working with someone like me - not for a perfect script, but for a version of your voice you recognise on the page. With time, and attention, and edits that help you get to what you really mean, instead of just what sounds good.

That’s why I don’t do templates. Because I think if you’re going to stand up and say something to someone you love, it should sound like you meant it.

- S