🔗 Share this article Male Bonds Form One Way, Female Friendships Other. Is It Time to Stop Trying to Push Men Into Women? It is good to talk. That's what men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships often center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can appear oddly empty and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Companionship Yet, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, 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 This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—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 imply it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to spend time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? This is not the preferred way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? This discussion continues. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry equal value, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
It is good to talk. That's what men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships often center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can appear oddly empty and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Companionship Yet, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, 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 outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—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 imply it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to spend time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? This is not the preferred way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? This discussion continues. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry equal value, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.