🔗 Share this article Male Friendships Develop Differently, Female Friendships Another. Ought We Cease Attempting to Make Men Into Women? It's good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, by everyone from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. These women are perplexed by the common male propensity to spend 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 often center on an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can sound oddly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right? As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably open. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? This is 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 low mood—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? The debate continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship carry equal worth, respectively meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in their own effective way.
It's good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, by everyone from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. These women are perplexed by the common male propensity to spend 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 often center on an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can sound oddly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right? As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably open. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? This is 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 low mood—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words? The debate continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship carry equal worth, respectively meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in their own effective way.