Masculine Friendships Develop Differently, Female Friendships Another. Ought We Cease Attempting to Make Men More Like Women?
It is good to talk. Or so men are repeatedly told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain puzzled by the common male habit to pass 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 time? How come they didn't they inquired 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 deep and detailed knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male intimacy—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can appear strangely hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem chronically angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up helps no one.
Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Friendship
Yet, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow suggests.
Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. 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 value less talk.
Beyond Words: The Unspoken Dialect of Concern
Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right?
As a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably open. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether.
Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly.
What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. 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 Question: Is Connection Need Words?
This is not the preferred method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that someone is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that invariably be articulated with words?
This discussion continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
