🔗 Share this article Male Friendships Develop One Way, Women's Friendships Other. Should We Stop Trying to Turn Men More Like Women? It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are often instructed, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain puzzled by the typical male habit to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could 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 personal friendships typically revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can look oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Friendship However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the strong 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 mostly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children 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 version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Perhaps we should let 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 likewise value less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a female perspective, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, discontent, or pride endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Essential Question: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and low mood—is simply knowing that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that invariably be put into words? This discussion continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry comparable value, each satisfying the emotional needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are often instructed, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain puzzled by the typical male habit to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could 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 personal friendships typically revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can look oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Friendship However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the strong 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 mostly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children 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 version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Perhaps we should let 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 likewise value less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a female perspective, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, discontent, or pride endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Essential Question: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and low mood—is simply knowing that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that invariably be put into words? This discussion continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry comparable value, each satisfying the emotional needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.