🔗 Share this article Male Bonds Evolve Differently, Women's Friendships Another. Should We Halt Efforts to Make Men More Like Women? It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are repeatedly told, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home with no insight 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 handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships often revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can appear strangely empty and sad. 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 visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one. Rethinking the Value of Silent Companionship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the bond developed among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children 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 mean it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also value less chatter. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right? As a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older 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, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, does that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry comparable worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique effective way.
It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are repeatedly told, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home with no insight 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 handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships often revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can appear strangely empty and sad. 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 visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one. Rethinking the Value of Silent Companionship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the bond developed among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children 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 mean it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also value less chatter. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right? As a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older 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, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. The most notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, does that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry comparable worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique effective way.