Masculine Bonds Evolve One Way, Women's Friendships Another. Is It Time to Stop Trying to Push Men More Like Women?
It is healthy to talk. Or so men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father?
For women, whose personal friendships typically revolve around an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can appear oddly hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that more than 25% of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to visit a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up helps no one.
Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship
Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow suggests.
Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter.
Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Care
Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right?
As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling altogether.
Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are not at all unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, hope, disappointment, or pride endlessly.
The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Need Words?
It's not the ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, must that invariably be put into words?
The debate continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship hold comparable worth, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.
