Be Husband Material

Part 1: Don't Be Helpless

Last week, I bumped into a friend (and regular reader), a married father of two teen girls. He’d liked my last post, about the questions Muslim men should ask before getting married. He wasn’t the only subscriber who asked if I’d write a version for Muslim women. A lot of my advice for Muslim men applies equally to Muslim women, however, even as on specific matters—I’m hardly the right person.

But there were other questions I can and definitely want to speak to, beginning with this one: How do men makes themselves husband material? I’ve thought about that question a lot because I’ve been teaching young men in the midst of a crisis of masculinity. Many men plainly fail to launch, even as they want to, and undoubtedly this will affect our communities gravely in years to come.

If you aren’t worried, you aren’t paying attention.

Above, a man. The man could be Muslim. The man could be you. Women want to marry a man who can do and actually does his own laundry. Maybe because that means he has clothes he cares enough about to keep clean or, more importantly, he cares about and respects himself. Other Muslim men want you to do your laundry, too. Because Ramadan is just around the corner and taraweeh means standing beside you, and all your lifestyle choices and their consequences, for hours at a time. You know how they say the ummah is one body? Well, keep yours clean, brother.

I’m married, of course. Lots of my friends are married, which still feels default in Ohio, another reason I love it here. I speak with lots of folks looking to get married. My wife and our girls are watching the new Hulu show, Muslim Matchmaker.

I recommend watching with older teens, who need to see these interactions unfold as a fun, low-stress way of thinking about what they want. Parents, especially (girl) dads — we don’t always have the face-to-face, head-on conversations about the tough topics, so let Yasmin & Hoda push those questions. What do they like? Who do they respond to? How can you best meet a partner (without being preachy and annoying?) Also then you might have to tell your kids about how you first met your wife. Just kidding, they don’t care.

More to the point, the Sunday school I teach is intentionally designed to help young Muslims grow into full, thriving Muslims: these subjects also work their way into my weekly sessions: I don’t artificially divide the academic, the spiritual and the personal, and you shouldn’t either. Which is why I’m writing this six-part series on how to stand out as a better potential husband. Part 1: Don’t be helpless!

Halal Six-Pack

From my life experience, time with married friends and relatives, and conversations even with strangers looking for a life partner, I’ve come to believe men need six qualities to stand out as attractive potential partners. These are specific enough that I can offer advice, and presented sequentially, so you can digest each point in turn. But they’re also not so narrow that they only speak to one type of man or woman.

Let’s be honest. Some of us are funny. Others are there because someone has to laugh at the jokes. A few of us are tall. Some of us pay the same price for economy-class tickets and have twice as much legroom. Some of us understand life is unfair. The rest of us are in for a rude awakening. Some of us love to dress up. Others are to the point, efficient, and other nice words for beige.

That’s fine—these six qualities are meant to be read through who you are. As I wrote for the American Institute for Boys and Men, Muslim masculinity is hardly narrow—there’s room in our tradition for all types of men and women.

Men will naturally incline to what makes the most sense for them. That doesn’t mean there aren’t shared insights and truths.

We can embrace some measure of difference without reducing life advice to such boring banality we might as well be pitching bumper stickers on Etsy. Of course, if you own a mode of transport with a bumper, that usually doesn’t hurt. Bumper stickers themselves, on the other hand, are an acquired taste.

A lot of young men I talk to, when meeting prospective partners, start with their conditions, limitations, red-lines and red flags. Maybe they think they’re being considerate, even thoughtful: Why waste her time, after all? Except this is kind of like starting a conversation with all the reasons the conversation is more of an ultimatum. You’re not a bumper sticker. You’re a person. She’s not a checklist. She’s a person. Spend some time listening. You might be surprised.

But talking to people is like reading. To get good at it, you kind of have to keep doing it. So practice. Join a book club. Spend some time in the masjid after prayers. Go to the gym and keep your AirPods out of your ears.

In this first part, and the five subsequent installments — all the more reason to subscribe to Sunday Schooled! — I include examples of each quality, how to cultivate them if you feel you lack them, and how I build these into my classes for middle and high school students. Welcome, for now, to the first bit of advice every man who wants to be a husband needs to know.

Boys are helpless. Don’t be helpless. If you’re still helpless, you’re not a man.

When Marriage is a Choice, Only Real Men Will Get Married

I fear marriage is no longer the default in mainstream American culture and our communities might end up the same. After all, we’re Americans, and hardly immune to what goes on around us. That means men — and women — have to do more work to make themselves marriageable. If I’m speaking to men specifically, well, I’m one.

Brothers in Islam! This isn’t that hard. If you want to be considered for marriage, you have to present as a man. This should be obvious but sadly it’s not. If you want to be seen as a man, you have to display a certain level of competency, autonomy, and capacity. That produces confidence, and confidence in turn is appealing.

I hardly mean some crude caricature of masculinity. I mean the deep stuff out of which manhood is made, modeled, and sustained. There’s lots of easy indicators here (and plenty of warning signs, too.)

For example, a man for example should be able to make his bed, dress himself, feed himself, do laundry, take out the trash, show up on time, and handle life’s daily responsibilities commensurate with what’s needed and possible. In the grand tradition of our faith, knowledge is realized, reinforced and deepened through actions.

You shouldn’t just be able to do such things. You should be doing them.¹

More broadly, and perhaps more helpfully, you should present in public as someone who knows what’s called for in different kinds of situations.

Don’t believe this is about money, class or income, but decency, modesty, and self-respect, all of which are really just adab. Nobody assigns you a high status or a robust worth if you don’t assign it to yourself. (Didn’t you watch the brilliant last episode of Mo on Netflix?) Whether you take a bus to work or drive an expensive car, how you carry yourself speaks volumes about who you are and what you think of yourself.

If you take yourself seriously, people will take you seriously, no matter what income level you’re at. More directly: Brothers—if you don’t take yourself seriously, no woman will. Who wants an unserious husband?

That starts with the most basic metrics.

Your clothes should be clean. You should be clean. I certainly hope we’re all wearing deodorant by now. Our hair is taken care of because, believe me, that is a gift God can take away at any time, even entirely hypothetically around your 28th birthday.

Does your body smell nice? Is your breath fresh? It’s almost Ramadan; you better not be showing up at the masjid with holes in your socks. Wear a sufficiently long shirt or an undershirt so that, come ruku or while sitting, you don’t expose your backside to the other half of your faith.

Of course Haroon knows men and women don’t pray side-by-side. He also knows that a prospective wife’s brother, uncle, cousin or father might well be next to you.

On that note, get yourself some nice ‘itr in advance of taraweeh. Wear respectable socks. I like my socks to pop a bit, a complement to whatever I’m wearing. I learned this from British delegations at the United Nations. During my senior year of college, I interned at the UN, and was fascinated by how conservative British diplomats offset their stoic suits with surprisingly joyful socks. I prefer Unsimply Stitched.

Anyone in theory can be clean, neat, and dressed to expand the ummah. But not everyone does. So do yourself a favor and stand out. That’s a key calculus on which to judge who is helpless—and who can be relied on.

This doesn’t have to be rigidly interpreted—if you’re a resident, showing up in scrubs is hardly taboo. If you’re an artist, you should look like an artist (in all cases, within reason and appropriate to where and when you are). If you’re forty-two and looking, you’re expected to carry yourself differently than if you’re twenty-two and looking. All people use small clues to tell us big things it’s otherwise weird to find out.

Maybe that’s not fair, but who’s going to mistrust their gut when it comes to the rest of their lives? Speaking of which, are we making a minimal effort at extending those lives with some health and wellness? A mature woman doesn’t just look at a husband as a final product, but as someone to grow with (and men, you should think the same). In other words, people see your potential in your manner.

Do you appear in public in such a way that a prospective employer, life partner, friend of a life partner, colleague of an employer, mentor, investor, or the like would take you seriously? I can’t understand why grown adults show up in public spaces effectively in pajamas—sometimes it’s just immodest. On most every occasion, it’s immature. This has nothing to do with personality, by the way.

By all means, have fun. Be yourself. Be real and authentic. Some folks are more relaxed and gregarious. Some of us are laconic and terse.

I mean something fundamental, foundational, the shared purpose behind and beneath our specificities: A man who doesn’t take himself seriously doesn’t understand that God created him for a purpose which transcends this world. God also created you to grow up, take on responsibility, lead and build, take care of others—and to grow old, change shape, become less capable, and die.

Be how old you are.²

You should have responsible maturity and heft by the time you’re in your early twenties or otherwise you’re not going to be ready for marriage even a few years later (because you’re not advertising yourself as a person who will be a good husband, dad, provider, and partner). Guys, you have a biological clock. Women do too. If you start getting serious at thirty, you’ve basically forced yourself and your life partner into a rushed, panicked search.

We’re starting way too late, because we’re getting ready way too late. We’re not on time for our lives. We’re showing up late to the only party we have. That’s on us.

Conversely, if you take care of what’s in your possession, beginning with you, that’s a good sign. If you take care of what’s in another person’s possession, that’s even better. Of course, you might ask, how do I develop this baseline level of competency? How, Haroon, do I make sure I don’t present as helpless?

Not too hard, alhamd! If we can’t change what’s within us, we can change what’s outside us, and that in turn will eventually change what’s in us. That’s why, for example, the Prophet (S) advised helping others as one cure for depression—we get ourselves out of our heads and into the world. Because the world changes what’s in our heads. That’s easy enough to remember, inshallah.

When you do things that convey maturity for the right reasons, you become mature. In order to not appear helpless, you will in fact have to become less helpless.

Man Up Your Mindset

I want to start with this valuable insight:

Another quality I have noticed in very intelligent people is being unafraid to look stupid.

How To Understand Things

Ironically (for some), the key to developing confidence and capacity is humility. A person who isn’t willing to learn isn’t going to succeed in much that matters.

1. If you want to be less helpless, admit that you’re helpless!

Appreciate that you are a work in progress. It’s cool: I am, too. Everyone is! If you want to be a more compelling man, and a better prospect for marriage, admit where you come up short. Make a list. Don’t share it, by the way. Just make it. Not in a mean way, to beat yourself up, but in a proactive way: Here’s what I want to work on! Working on things is exciting. If you fear working on anything, probably you shouldn’t get married, so you can stop reading here but just subscribe anyway please.

If you do like a project, however, especially one that’ll make you better, happier, and likely to live longer — marriage is good for men — then resolve to do something for yourself and your future. Just that initiative alone is attractive (and it’ll pay off in plenty of ways, in this life and the next).

2. YouTube is your best friend (but not best man)

Some of us have dads, uncles or concerned mentors to teach us to, say, tie a tie. For everyone else, there’s the online. I’m not actually joking. There are so many resources available nowadays thanks to YouTube, plus podcasts, Substacks like this one, and beyond, myriad platforms, videos, tutorials and talks that help men master life’s tasks.

But—

3. People over platforms

Learn how to ask real people, habibi. You’ll hardly ever regret it. If you want to dress more professionally, and carry yourself more competently, then look around at who appears the way you want to. Remember, this should be a balance between learning from others and being true to who you are, where you are, and what’s best for you.

Notice, for example, whose clothes impress you — and follow up. If you like how someone dresses, just ask them where they shop. It’s genuinely not that difficult. Most people appreciate the compliment—“I like your tie” rarely goes over badly. If that’s too hard, just go into a store. Joseph A. Bank. Macy’s. Dillard’s. Whatever, I don’t care.

Okay I’m lying—I really like Joseph A. Bank, most of all because the guys who work there take their time and offer free, honest, smart advice.

This is a three-for-one: You practice speaking to people, learning how to ask, and get advice and guidance. Nobody’s going to know the clerk at Banana Republic (or whatever) helped you build a wardrobe, and even if she did, who cares—most women would be more impressed that you took some initiative.

Initiative is exciting. Sitting on your butt - not so much. You can extend the same principle to buying a car, renting an apartment, pursuing professional development.

But what if you’re scared to reach out to people, nervous, or entirely lost at sea?

Haroon, What if I’m Scared, Nervous, or Entirely Lost At Sea?

When I arrived at Columbia University for graduate school, I was so excited. I mean, I’d gotten into some great schools, which meant I felt good about my academic trajectory… but I was nervous, too. Within my first week, I was meeting people whose handle on the material, the subjects and the expectations exceeded my own. Case in point: At a campus event for incoming grad students, I met Peter. Let’s call him Peter.

Now, Peter was insanely smart, in ways that felt profoundly, existentially unfair, like the fact that I’m at least fourteen inches taller than the girls and yet their flight, baggage allowance, and baggage dimensions are equal to mine.

Once I was in line at Citibank and saw Peter ahead of me, casually reading Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit, which monograph makes even very literate people want to die. I knew then that I would never be able to compete with Peter. He was (and still is) a lot smarter than most people I know. I had a choice: I could burn up with envy. Or I could admit the reality and go with that. Turns out living in reality is preferable.

One day, at a Morningside Heights cafe, Peter was reading Reinhart Koselleck while eating ice cream.³ (Peter and I were in many of the same classes.) I walked over and just admitted to him that I’d been struggling with the text he was flipping through like it was James Patterson and Michael Crichton’s Eruption.⁴ I’ll also admit that I knew admitting I was struggling might flatter him. After all, I’d come to him.

Was that so bad?

In theory Peter could have used my admission against me, but that was conjecture. Actually producing a subpar response paper would definitely harm me.

It turned out Peter liked to explain things. Maybe he liked feeling smart and superior, I don’t know. All I know is that, after half an hour, I returned to the text like an upgraded version of myself — and when I got my response paper back a few days later, the Professor was effusive in his praise. That brief conversation didn’t just improve my immediate understanding, however.

I’d actually and genuinely learned how to read and think better. Peter and I hung out a lot that first year. I was totally fine with being the supplicant here, because if I’d allowed my ego to conflict with my ambition and aspiration, not to mention my assignments, I’d be a fool. There’s short-term awkwardness and long-term loss. These weren’t small, tactical victories I’d gained, but substantive insights.

I’m astonished and dismayed by how many men let a fear of appearing helpless cause actual, long-term helplessness. So what’s the difference?

Everyone needs help. People who admit to needing help, or developing strategies to realize that help, become less helpless over the long-term. If you’re humble and keen to learn, realize that people around you might know things you don’t, then from high school to your mid-twenties, you’ll grow from a boy to a man. If, on the other hand, you’re sure you’ve got it all down, you’ll be useless. Or a narcissist.

In either case, who wants to marry that person?

I’m Sorry, But I Can’t Do That

You might think, that’s easy advice for you to give, Haroon.

You’ve written three books, which have been translated into French and Albanian. You work out. You’ve been published in The New York Times, Washington Post, CNN, NPR and more. You’ve been on CNN, FOX News, Al-Jazeera, MSNBC and more. You’ve given sermons and speeches to audiences of over two thousand people.

You’ve spoken at the United Nations years after interning there.

You did stand-up comedy.

You’ve started a boutique travel company, Queen City Diwan, which creates compelling, exciting tours that bring history to life.

Through Queen City Diwan, you’re developing leadership programs for select Muslim college students, combining your life experience and insight with your love of mentorship and teaching. The first kicks off in Spain in January 2026. (Applications will open soon—register here to get on the list.)

… Well, thank you for your kind words, dear reader. You may know the above about me, and I swear I’m not humble bragging with all of this, but underlining what might surprise you. When I was young, I built an intellectual foundation that today I’m able to take advantage of in unexpected ways. But what most people wouldn’t know is why I could build such an impressive foundation.

Not only because I loved to read.

Most people don’t know me from before my time in New York City for more reasons than you might think. People who knew me in middle school or even most of high school would be utterly astonished by the person I am today. Most of all, me.

That Haroon would live in Ohio and run a travel company sounded unbelievable. Getting Haroon out of his room was hard enough. Getting him to leave the house?

Scared, Nervous, and Sick and Tired Of It

Growing up, I read a lot. A freakish amount of books. I regularly checked out eight or nine books from the library at a time. I loved Legos, too. I was further attached to my Super Nintendo and subsequent Nintendo 64. I did bike around town, enjoyed swimming, played some tennis, eventually tried snowboarding, but there’s a common theme: I enjoyed solitary activities. Some of that was by circumstance.

Historians will look back on this era as, arguably, the peak of Western civilization.

We lived in a small town. My only sibling was much older and away from home for a lot of the time (college, law school, etc.) My parents were very into and encouraged reading and scholarship. With their encouragement, and my genetic inheritance (two bookish people produce bookish child), I learned a lot about a lot, though I had next to no one to share that with.

Not because I was a misanthrope. Because I was scared and nervous around all kinds of people. How did the Haroon who struggled in almost any kind of social interaction turn into the Haroon who jumped on CNN without much hesitation?

Well, my parents did expect me to help around the house. My dad had a big John Deere riding mower; while he took care of most of the lawn, I had to use the push mower around the house. I had to vacuum. Load the dishwasher. Eventually, that graduated up to laundry. This meant that in addition to a good store of information on the world, I had a little confidence, too.

Thanks to my parents, I wasn’t, as the desis put it, on the path to becoming a lafunga (something no man should be identified as in case he hopes to marry.) Maybe that was why I had some sense of capacity. So while I envied people around me who seemed unintimidated by the world, somehow I got this sense that I didn’t have to be scared and nervous all the time. I just had to figure out how.

If I could figure out how to mow a lawn, shock a pool, run a dishwasher, work a vacuum, then this couldn’t be that hard. I’m genuinely not joking. If you’re shy or uncertain, that’s less of a problem than you think. If you have the desire to do more, that’s really what matters.

I chose to go to college in America’s biggest city. I was terrified, mind you, and if my parents had been “nicer,” they’d have let my fears win out. I’d have gotten what I wanted and become a far sadder person than I am today.

I’m so glad they didn’t bend. Parents shouldn’t be too soft.

Yeah, my first year at NYU was insanely hard. I often sat in my room on Friday or Saturday nights for months despite being in what was back then the greatest city in the world. Yet bit by bit, with some friends around me, I exited my shell, explored, developed a measure of extroversion and confidence.

I made up a game that smoothed my way out the literal door of my dorm room: I pretended I was in a movie about my life.

Whenever a difficult moment came up, I asked myself what I’d do, what the audience would like me to do, and then decide. Frequently the audience won—and that worked. I found myself in new situations, such that, by my senior year, I was President of a rapidly-growing, very diverse, energetic community: the Islamic Center at NYU.

I was President of a club that had as many people at Friday prayers as my entire high school had, period. (I love you, Somers, Conn.)

In those first days of my last fall semester, however, New York was attacked. The world’s attention fell on Muslims. There I was, President of one of the largest, most accessible and dynamic Muslim communities in Manhattan, called to speak to media, faith leaders, city officials, and ordinary Americans, day in and day out.

In the understatement of the year, it was excruciating.

Nowadays I can walk into a masjid and deliver a khutbah (sermon) without much stress; while I don’t love crowds, I’m not in the least uncomfortable in them even if I’d often prefer watching a good show (Star Trek: Strange New Worlds was great), reading (I’m curious about Spencer Klavan’s latest), or just reading Car & Driver. Print magazines are underrated, by the way.

But for those first few years, before any public engagement, I’d be in the green room or bathroom or in my car, sweating, anxious, terrified, deep breathing in desperation. Yet I knew my faith enough not just to talk about it with reasonable competence but well enough that I knew my obligation to our country, ummah, and planet counted more than my discomfort.

I accepted nearly every reasonable ask that arrived in my inbox or on voicemail.

And over the years, I learned: If you act like you can handle it, you learn how to handle it. This didn’t mean I didn’t know what I was talking about (I’d always turn down any engagement if I didn’t have the requisite expertise or relevant). We ready ourselves to rise to the occasion, that is masculinity. Or, when the occasion presents ourselves, we scramble and make ourselves ready. But either way, we make ourselves ready.

Are we, brothers in Islam, ready for what might be coming next? For the challenges that our communities and countries will assuredly face in the years ahead? This is no time for squandering our best years, wandering in aimless excursions, but building ourselves, our relationships, our knowledge and our foundations in faith, because our faith and our country will need more men.

And to those men who feel held back, just know that I know — even if it doesn’t feel this way — how much you’re capable of. Aim small, miss small. (Kamā qāla Mel Gibson fi’l Batriot.) Do what you need to do to be there, in the smallest way. You’ll be surprised how this experience accumulates and transforms you. Practice being in uncomfortable situations. Know that the larger arc of life that drives these.

There’s what we want, after all, versus why we’re even here in the first place: God put us here. We didn’t. So when He calls on us and we should answer. And because He will call on us, we should be ready to answer. That can start modestly and in fact should— that’s cool! That’s awesome. That’s beautiful. Because through small projects create big outcomes.

Navy Admiral William MacRaven famously described ten lessons he learned from Navy SEAL training, beginning with this one: Make your bed.

I entirely agree with him. To be a man is to have control over yourself and your surroundings, in whatever ways available to you. You build a sense of agency. You have a sense of ownership. You understand responsibility. You feel like you are acting in the world, not just being acted on. (It’s worth reading or listening to the speech in full.) And that matters in life as much as in marriage.

Women can sense this from a mile away—is this a man who is a victim of whatever cause is convenient to blame, or a man who will weather adversity with me, contribute to our community, empower our family, and do good and be remembered well?

These qualities make you a better spouse, of course. They’ll also make you a better dad, a better employee (or entrepreneur). They’ll make you a better servant of God. They’ll help you achieve focus, firmness and contentment. They’ll give your life meaning. Happiness is fleeting and, after a while, pursuing it is just juvenile. We’re here for a reason. We have work to do. We have an ummah to build. Men, we need to contribute our unique strengths, talents and ambitions to our communities.

We need bookish men. Athletic men. Creative men. Comics. Writers. Investors. Lawyers. Teachers. Prayer leaders. We literally won’t have communities, however, if we don’t have families, and we won’t have families if we don’t have more boys who (know how to) become men.

Boys Are The Fathers of Men

Like I said above, I’m going to talk about this from a halaqa perspective, too.

For the middle school boys I teach, I call on them to take small leadership roles in the course of our weekly classes. One day, inshallah, they’ll be married men. Won’t they lead prayers with their families? Won’t they want to sit down together and do du‘a? So every class, I make sure to call on someone to open with a prayer. To close with a supplication. To lead us in prayers (which, trust me, can terrify them).

I chastise them when they come in and don’t properly say salam to each other, let alone to me, my wife and our older kids. I hold the teenage boys to an even higher standard. I make it clear that when they walk into the room, they have to come up to me, say salam, make eye contact and then salam everyone else. If other family members are home, they should say salam.

Including to the girls their age (the halaqas often go back to back.) If you can’t acknowledge someone at eighteen, from your own community, that’s not healthy.

I ask them to do group presentations and focus on the aesthetics as well as the content. And why not?

I’m giving them life skills while immersing them in our faith, which is active, communal and intentionally lacks a clergy. We emphasize knowledge, while seeking the broadest participation possible. I know some of these kids are anxious. But I’ve also seen them grow over the years, from shy and hesitant to far more outgoing and confident. I talk to them about life priorities, career decisions, and big political debates. Out of love, I invite them to debate and occasionally rip apart their arguments—a love that the world will ask for more, too.

A halaqa should be a preparation for this life and the next.

Thanks for reading. Parts two through six will drop soon, God willing.

1. In case you’re wondering, Better Homes & Gardens has a website with pro tips like “How to Make a Bed in 5 Easy Steps.” But of course I already know how to make up a bed.

2. A healthy person and healthy culture embraces aging, understanding that we must not only make way for those who come next, but help them be ready for that time. Joe Biden aged but couldn’t accept it. He stayed on far too long, because for all his talk of faith and responsibility, he displayed neither. He doomed the Democratic Party and imperiled our country out of his arrogance and weakness. Do you want to be Joe Biden?

3. Okay maybe not ice cream, but the point is, he was really not stressed out.

4. A great read. And a gentle break from the histories of Byzantium, the Umayyads and the Abbasids I’m reading now.