🔗 Share this article Masculine Friendships Form One Way, Female Friendships Another. Should We Cease Attempting to Turn Men More Like Women? It's good to talk. That's what men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain puzzled by the common 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 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 personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can seem strangely empty and sad. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Friendship Yet, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the strengths of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? This is not the ideal method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship carry comparable value, respectively meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.
It's good to talk. That's what men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain puzzled by the common 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 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 personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can seem strangely empty and sad. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Friendship Yet, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the strengths of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right? From a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? This is not the ideal method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship carry comparable value, respectively meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.