Male Friendships Form Differently, Female Friendships Other. Should We Cease Attempting to Turn Men More Like Women?
It is beneficial to talk. That's what men are often advised, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often center on an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; 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 nobody.
Rethinking the Value of Quiet 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 studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy study has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared activities—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers play—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less chatter.
Beyond Words: The Unspoken Language of Care
Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, 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?
From a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly open. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while younger men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, yearning, disappointment, or pride endlessly.
What is striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the obvious issue.
The Essential Question: Is Connection Need Words?
It's not everyone's ideal method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person 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 recognize that varied forms of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own effective way.
