Masculine Friendships Form Differently, Women's Friendships Other. Ought We Halt Efforts to Push Men More Like Women?
It is good to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships typically center on an intimate and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can look oddly empty and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody.
Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship
Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation 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 hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Admittedly, this can sound oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than directly 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 classic car projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less chatter.
Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care
Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right?
As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated 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 unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't probe what was wrong. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Core Issue: Does Bonding Need Words?
It's not the ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words?
This discussion continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship carry equal value, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
