🔗 Share this article Masculine Friendships Develop One Way, Female Relationships Another. Is It Time to Stop Trying to Turn Men Into Women? It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates 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 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 inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—based on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up helps no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less talk. Beyond Words: The Unspoken Dialect of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A lack of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? It's not everyone's preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally the awareness that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that always be articulated with words? The debate persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates 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 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 inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—based on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up helps no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less talk. Beyond Words: The Unspoken Dialect of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A lack of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? It's not everyone's preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally the awareness that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that always be articulated with words? The debate persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.