Male Bonds Form One Way, Female Friendships Another. Should We Cease Attempting to Make Men Into Women?

It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain puzzled by the common male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What could 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 typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate 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 angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits no one.

Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Friendship

However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.

This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.

Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than engaging 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 significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever pursuit allows them to spend time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter.

Past Words: A Tacit Language of Care

Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right?

From a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional observation suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling altogether.

Additionally, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are not at all unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, disappointment, or pride endlessly.

What is striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue.

The Essential Question: Is Connection Require Words?

This is not the preferred method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that another person is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that invariably be put into words?

This discussion persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.