Male Connections Form One Way, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Should We Halt Efforts to Push Men More Like Women?
It's good to talk. That's what men are often told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain bemused by the common male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose personal friendships often revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—built on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can look strangely hollow and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up helps nobody.
Rethinking the Value of Quiet Companionship
Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the strengths of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these mostly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states.
Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers interact—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also appreciate less talk.
Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern
Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right?
As a woman's perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling entirely.
Furthermore, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, hope, discontent, or pride for hours.
What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room.
The Essential Question: Does Bonding Require Words?
It's not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that always be put into words?
This discussion continues. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, respectively meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in their own effective way.
