🔗 Share this article Masculine Connections Form Differently, Female Friendships Other. Is It Time to Cease Attempting to Push Men More Like Women? It is healthy to talk. Or so men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the common male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male intimacy—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can seem strangely hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that over a quarter of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, appear permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise value less talk. Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's perspective, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Additionally, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue. The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? The debate continues. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship hold comparable worth, respectively meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It is healthy to talk. Or so men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the common male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male intimacy—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can seem strangely hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that over a quarter of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, appear permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise value less talk. Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's perspective, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Additionally, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue. The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? The debate continues. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship hold comparable worth, respectively meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.