🔗 Share this article Masculine Friendships Develop One Way, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Should We Halt Efforts to Turn Men Into Women? It's healthy to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male tendency to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? 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 own friendships typically revolve around an intimate and detailed knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can seem oddly hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling everything up helps no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Companionship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the strengths 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 mostly older men. His four-year observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. 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. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who also value less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right? From a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly. What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor records, they deliberately didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Is Connection Require Words? It's not the preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, respectively meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in their own effective way.
It's healthy to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male tendency to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? 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 own friendships typically revolve around an intimate and detailed knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can seem oddly hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling everything up helps no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Companionship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the strengths 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 mostly older men. His four-year observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. 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. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who also value less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right? From a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly. What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor records, they deliberately didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Is Connection Require Words? It's not the preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, respectively meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in their own effective way.