🔗 Share this article Male Bonds Develop One Way, Female Relationships Other. Is It Time to Halt Efforts to Push Men More Like Women? It is healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly advised, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male habit to spend 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 might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male closeness—built on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely empty and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily express anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? This is not everyone's ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone is there enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship hold equal worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
It is healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly advised, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male habit to spend 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 might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male closeness—built on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely empty and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily express anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? This is not everyone's ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone is there enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship hold equal worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.