🔗 Share this article Male Connections Form One Way, Women's Relationships A Distinct Way. Is It Time to Halt Efforts to Push Men Into Women? It's good to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships often revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% 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 repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up helps no one. Rethinking the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths 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 struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy study has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. 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 chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to open up personal matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, yearning, disappointment, or pride for hours. What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not the preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion continues. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the emotional needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It's good to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships often revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% 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 repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up helps no one. Rethinking the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths 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 struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy study has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. 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 chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to open up personal matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, yearning, disappointment, or pride for hours. What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not the preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion continues. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the emotional needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.