🔗 Share this article Masculine Connections Evolve Differently, Women's Friendships Another. Ought We Cease Attempting to Make Men Into Women? It is good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless 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 personal friendships often center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up helps nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Companionship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than directly 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 value. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever pursuit 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 explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not everyone's preferred method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? This discussion persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to recognize that different styles of friendship carry equal worth, each meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in their own effective way.
It is good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless 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 personal friendships often center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up helps nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Companionship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than directly 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 value. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever pursuit 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 explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not everyone's preferred method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? This discussion persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to recognize that different styles of friendship carry equal worth, each meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in their own effective way.