Male Bonds Develop One Way, Women's Relationships Other. Is It Time to Stop Trying to Turn Men Into Women?
It is beneficial to talk. That's what men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain puzzled by the typical male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return utterly clueless about the significant events 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 often revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—built on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly empty and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits no one.
Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship
Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the strengths of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated.
This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let 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 appreciate less chatter.
Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Care
Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right?
As a female viewpoint, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss personal matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly open. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely.
Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly.
The most striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue.
The Essential Issue: Is Connection Need Words?
It's not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is simply the awareness that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that invariably be articulated with words?
This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied styles of friendship carry comparable worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.