🔗 Share this article Male Friendships Evolve Differently, Female Friendships Another. Ought We Stop Trying to Turn Men Into Women? It is healthy to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male propensity 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 might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male intimacy—built on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can seem oddly hollow 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 hesitate to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from 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 contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly open. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words? The debate persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It is healthy to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male propensity 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 might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male intimacy—built on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can seem oddly hollow 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 hesitate to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from 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 contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly open. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words? The debate persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.