🔗 Share this article Masculine Friendships Evolve Differently, Female Friendships Other. Ought We Cease Attempting to Turn Men Into Women? It's good to talk. Or so men are constantly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male habit to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically revolve around an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male intimacy—based on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one. Rethinking 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 researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His four-year 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—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted form of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how toddlers interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Dialect of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights 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 clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride for hours. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Is Connection Require Words? It's not the preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally the awareness that someone is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied styles of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the emotional needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
It's good to talk. Or so men are constantly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male habit to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically revolve around an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male intimacy—based on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one. Rethinking 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 researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His four-year 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—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted form of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how toddlers interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Dialect of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights 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 clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride for hours. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Is Connection Require Words? It's not the preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally the awareness that someone is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied styles of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the emotional needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.