🔗 Share this article Male Connections Develop One Way, Female Friendships Other. Should We Stop Trying to Push Men Into Women? It is healthy to talk. That's what men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an deep and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly hollow and sad. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of UK 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 consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond forged among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred 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 company of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be 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 open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, yearning, disappointment, or pride for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and low mood—is simply the awareness that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be put into words? The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship carry equal worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
It is healthy to talk. That's what men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an deep and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly hollow and sad. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of UK 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 consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond forged among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred 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 company of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be 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 open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, yearning, disappointment, or pride for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and low mood—is simply the awareness that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be put into words? The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship carry equal worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.