Masculine Friendships Evolve One Way, Women's Relationships A Distinct Way. Ought We Halt Efforts to Push Men More Like Women?
It's good to talk. Or so men are often instructed, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male habit to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits nobody.
Reconsidering the Value of Silent Companionship
Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient 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 predominantly older men. His lengthy 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 hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow suggests.
Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever pursuit allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also value less talk.
Past Words: A Tacit Language of Concern
Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right?
As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to discuss sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence 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 not at all unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
What is striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what looks remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words?
This is not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone is there enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, must that invariably be put into words?
The debate persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry equal value, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
