🔗 Share this article Male Connections Develop One Way, Female Relationships Another. Is It Time to Cease Attempting to Turn Men Into Women? It is healthy to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an intimate and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can look oddly hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Companionship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy study has been distilled into a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Dialect of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's viewpoint, one is clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent anger, hope, disappointment, or pride for hours. What is striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor records, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? It's not everyone's ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that invariably be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
It is healthy to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain bemused by the typical male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an intimate and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can look oddly hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up helps nobody. Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Companionship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy study has been distilled into a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Dialect of Care Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? From a woman's viewpoint, one is clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent anger, hope, disappointment, or pride for hours. What is striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, as the professor records, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? It's not everyone's ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that invariably be put into words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.