🔗 Share this article Male Connections Develop One Way, Female Friendships Other. Ought We Stop Trying to Turn Men More Like Women? It is good to talk. That's what men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male tendency to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? 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 often center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Companionship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at 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 published as a paper arguing that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how toddlers 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 ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. 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 presence of others who also value less talk. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to open up personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily vent anger, yearning, discontent, or pride for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately 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 pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not the preferred 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 simply knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? The debate persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold equal value, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
It is good to talk. That's what men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male tendency to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? 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 often center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Companionship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at 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 published as a paper arguing that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how toddlers 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 ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. 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 presence of others who also value less talk. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to open up personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily vent anger, yearning, discontent, or pride for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately 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 pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not the preferred 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 simply knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? The debate persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold equal value, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.