Male Friendships Develop Differently, Female Friendships A Distinct Way. Should We Cease Attempting to Turn Men More Like Women?
It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are constantly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—based on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, appear chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps no one.
Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Friendship
Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the bond forged among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated.
This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow suggests.
Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how toddlers play—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever pursuit allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less chatter.
Beyond Words: The Unspoken Language of Concern
Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right?
From a woman's viewpoint, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. 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 equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are not at all unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, hope, disappointment, or pride endlessly.
The most striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what looks remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they deliberately didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Core Issue: Is Connection Need 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 combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that always be put into words?
The debate persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own powerful way.
