🔗 Share this article Male Friendships Develop One Way, Women's Friendships Other. Is It Time to Stop Trying to Make Men Into Women? It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are repeatedly told, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are perplexed by the common male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven'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 intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem oddly empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—alongside 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 version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or pride for hours. The most striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not everyone's preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are repeatedly told, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are perplexed by the common male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven'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 intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem oddly empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—alongside 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 version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or pride for hours. The most striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not everyone's preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.