HOW TO GIVE A TOAST: THREE MINUTES, NO MORE
A toast is not a speech. A speech is about the speaker. A toast is about someone else, and it ends with everyone drinking. Forget that and you get the best man doing nine minutes on a stag weekend nobody's grandmother needed to hear about.
The patron saint here is Beau Brummell, the Regency dandy who made himself the arbiter of London society largely by talking. His contemporaries were clear about his method. He "had a happy facility in placing the most ordinary circumstances in a ridiculous point of view," wrote Captain William Jesse, who knew him in exile at Caen (The Life of George Brummell, 1844, vol. I, p.117). And, per the French critic Barbey d'Aurevilly, he "did not press" his witticisms "forward, but let them fall" (Of Dandyism and of George Brummell). That is the whole art. Let it fall.
The structure
Four beats. That's it.
- Who you are. One line, and only if half the room doesn't know you. "I'm Tom; I've known Sarah since we were nine."
- One story. Not three. One specific, true, short story that shows the person at their best, or at their most human. Specific beats general every time: "she's so generous" is nothing; the time she drove four hours to bring you soup is everything.
- What it means. One or two sentences that turn the story toward tonight. Why it matters that this person is getting married, retiring, turning fifty, or gone.
- The raise. Glass up. Their name. Done. "To Sarah." Don't make people hold a glass in the air while you think of a closer.
The length
Two to three minutes for a best man, maid of honor or father of the bride. One minute at a dinner. Thirty seconds if you're interrupting dessert. Nobody has ever left a reception saying the toasts were too short.
Write it out, then cut it. Then cut it again. Read it aloud and time it. The version you can say without notes, looking at people rather than paper, is the right version. If you need notes, use a card, not your phone.
Brummell once dealt with the weather in three words. Asked whether he had ever seen such a summer, he replied: "Yes, last winter" (Jesse, vol. I, pp.117–119). That is the right ratio of setup to payoff.
What never to say
- Anything about exes. Not as a joke, not as a compliment, not ever.
- The inside joke. If you have to explain it, it's an outside joke now. If you can't, a hundred people are watching you laugh alone.
- "For those who don't know me…" followed by your CV. One line, then move on.
- "I'm not good at speeches." Then be brief. Apologizing in advance just makes everyone nervous on your behalf.
- Anything you wouldn't say in front of the grandmother, the boss, or the priest. All three are there.
- Money, weight, drinking, past arrests. Particularly if true.
- Something you found online. The room has heard the Irish blessing. Use your own words.
Brummell's own career carries the warning. His famous line to a companion of the Prince Regent, "Who's your fat friend?", is reported in several versions by different witnesses, but they agree he said something like it, and it is usually blamed for sealing his break with the Prince (Jesse, vol. I; Ian Kelly, Beau Brummell: The Ultimate Man of Style, 2006). Punch at circumstances, never at people. Least of all people with power.
The wedding toast
Your job is to make the room like the couple more than it did when you stood up. So the story should flatter, even when it teases. Talk about your friend, then pivot to the two of them: the moment you knew this was the one, or what has changed in your friend since. Welcome the other family by name. End on both names.
Teasing is allowed if the subject would tell the story themselves. If you're not sure, they wouldn't.
The business toast
Shorter, warmer and more specific than you think. Thank the host first. Name the occasion: the deal closed, the anniversary, the retirement. Credit people by name, and include someone junior. A real number or a real moment beats a slogan; nobody needs to hear "synergy" with a glass of Sancerre in hand.
Don't make it about yourself, and don't roast the boss unless you have tenure. Brummell famously accepted a City merchant's dinner invitation "with pleasure, if you will promise faithfully not to tell" (Jesse, vol. I, pp.117–119). Funny at the merchant's expense; not a template for the client dinner.
The funeral toast
Here you raise a glass (or simply speak) to remember someone, not to perform. Be calm, be specific, be short. One story that sounds like them, ideally one that makes people smile, because a smile at a funeral is a form of gratitude. Say what they gave the people in the room. Address the family directly if you can do it without breaking down; if you can't, that's fine, too, and nobody will mind.
No jokes at their expense. No unfinished business. Never "they're in a better place" unless you know the family believes it.
Five rules that cover everything
- Stand up, wait for quiet, and start. No tapping the glass with a knife for thirty seconds.
- Look at the person you're toasting. Then look at the room. Then back.
- Sober enough to stand straight. One drink before, not three.
- Stop when you've finished. Barbey said Brummell "was too great a master of conversation not to be often silent" (Barbey, p.82). The best thing about a short toast is everything you didn't say.
- Raise, name, drink. Then sit down and let the next person have the room.
