Male Friendships Develop One Way, Women's Relationships Another. Is It Time to Halt Efforts to Make Men More Like Women?
It's healthy to talk. Or so men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are perplexed by the common male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return 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 own friendships typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, appear chronically angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up helps nobody.
Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Friendship
However, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the resilient 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 closeness forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated.
This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Admittedly, this can sound oddly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also appreciate less talk.
Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern
Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right?
From a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely.
Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to communicate what looks remarkably like care and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe what was wrong. Rather, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words?
It's not the preferred method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be articulated with words?
The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that different forms of friendship carry comparable value, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
