Male Connections Develop One Way, Female Friendships Another. Ought We Stop Trying to Make Men More Like Women?

It's good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain puzzled by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father?

For women, whose personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—based on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can seem oddly empty and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody.

Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Friendship

Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the merits of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the bond forged among these mostly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.

This muted model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow states.

Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who likewise value less talk.

Past Words: The Unspoken Language of Care

Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right?

As a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.

Furthermore, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, discontent, or pride for hours.

The most striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and then returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.

The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words?

It's not everyone's preferred way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that another person is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words?

This discussion persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that different forms of friendship carry equal value, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own effective way.