🔗 Share this article Male Friendships Develop Differently, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Should We Stop Trying to Make Men Into Women? It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are often advised, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male habit to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically revolve around an deep and detailed understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can appear oddly empty and sad. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling everything up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Companionship However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits 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 forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: 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 vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right? As a female perspective, one is clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to open up personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, yearning, disappointment, or pride endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold equal worth, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique powerful way.
It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are often advised, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male habit to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically revolve around an deep and detailed understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can appear oddly empty and sad. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling everything up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Companionship However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits 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 forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: 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 vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right? As a female perspective, one is clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to open up personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, yearning, disappointment, or pride endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be put into words? The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold equal worth, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique powerful way.