Masculine Friendships Develop One Way, Female Friendships Other. Ought We Stop Trying to Turn Men More Like Women?

It's good to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, by everyone from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain puzzled by the common 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? Why haven't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?

For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one.

Rethinking the Merit of Silent Friendship

However, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared activities—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated.

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

Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—next to 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 idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should leave 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 also appreciate less talk.

Beyond Words: The Unspoken Language of Concern

Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, 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 reserved friendships. Is he right?

From a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly open. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.

Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction for hours.

What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.

The Essential Issue: Is Connection Need Words?

This is not the ideal method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words?

The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that different forms of friendship hold comparable worth, respectively meeting the emotional needs of different individuals in unique effective way.