Male Friendships Form One Way, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Is It Time to Cease Attempting to Turn Men More Like Women?
It's healthy to talk. Or so men are repeatedly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the common male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father?
For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling everything up helps no one.
Rethinking the Value of Silent Companionship
Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the merits of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—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 significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever pursuit allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less talk.
Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Care
Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right?
As a woman's perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly forthright. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what looks remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Core Question: Is Connection Require Words?
This is not the preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic 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 invariably be put into words?
The debate continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship hold comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in their own effective way.