🔗 Share this article Male Connections Evolve One Way, Female Friendships A Distinct Way. Should We Stop Trying to Make Men More Like Women? It's good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely hollow and sad. No wonder, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up helps nobody. Rethinking the Value of Silent Companionship Yet, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers play—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who also appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right? From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express anger, yearning, disappointment, or pride endlessly. What is striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? It's not the ideal method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and low mood—is simply the awareness that another person is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship carry comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique effective way.
It's good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely hollow and sad. No wonder, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up helps nobody. Rethinking the Value of Silent Companionship Yet, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers play—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who also appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right? From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express anger, yearning, disappointment, or pride endlessly. What is striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? It's not the ideal method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and low mood—is simply the awareness that another person is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship carry comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique effective way.