Masculine Friendships Evolve One Way, Female Friendships A Distinct Way. Ought We Halt Efforts to Push Men Into Women?

It is good to talk. That's what men are often instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are puzzled by the common male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father?

For women, whose own friendships often center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—based on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can seem strangely hollow and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits nobody.

Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Companionship

However, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated.

This muted form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow states.

Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. 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 company of others who also appreciate less talk.

Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Care

Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right?

As a woman's perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A absence 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 better at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly.

The most 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 concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue.

The Essential Question: Does Bonding Need Words?

This is not the ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone is there enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be put into words?

The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that varied styles of friendship hold comparable worth, respectively meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.