🔗 Share this article Male Friendships Evolve Differently, Women's Relationships Another. Ought We Cease Attempting to Push Men Into Women? It is good to talk. That's what men are often instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships often center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem strangely empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Friendship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can sound oddly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? As a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, yearning, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that varied styles of friendship carry equal worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique effective way.
It is good to talk. That's what men are often instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships often center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem strangely empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Friendship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can sound oddly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? As a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, yearning, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that varied styles of friendship carry equal worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique effective way.