🔗 Share this article Male Connections Form One Way, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Should We Cease Attempting to Push Men Into Women? It's healthy to talk. Or so men are constantly advised, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can appear strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and silent 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 forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also appreciate less talk. Past Words: The Unspoken Language of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right? From a woman's perspective, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, hope, disappointment, or pride endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what looks remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining routine. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the ideal 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 knowing that someone is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable value, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
It's healthy to talk. Or so men are constantly advised, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can appear strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and silent 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 forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also appreciate less talk. Past Words: The Unspoken Language of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right? From a woman's perspective, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, hope, disappointment, or pride endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what looks remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining routine. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the ideal 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 knowing that someone is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable value, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.