🔗 Share this article Masculine Bonds Form One Way, Female Friendships Other. Ought We Cease Attempting to Turn Men Into Women? It's healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male tendency to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight 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 intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps no one. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Companionship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at 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 study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to spend time in the company of others who also value less chatter. Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates 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 absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and despair—is simply the awareness that another person cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words? This discussion continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, respectively meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique powerful way.
It's healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male tendency to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight 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 intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps no one. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Companionship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at 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 study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to spend time in the company of others who also value less chatter. Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates 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 absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and despair—is simply the awareness that another person cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words? This discussion continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, respectively meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique powerful way.