🔗 Share this article Male Bonds Evolve Differently, Women's Relationships A Distinct Way. Is It Time to Stop Trying to Turn Men More Like Women? It's healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain bemused by the common male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can look 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 refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the strengths of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let 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 value less talk. Beyond Words: A Tacit Dialect of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly open. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable 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 older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? It's not the preferred method of connecting, 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 is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be articulated with words? The debate continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold equal value, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It's healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain bemused by the common male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can look 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 refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits nobody. Rethinking the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the strengths of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let 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 value less talk. Beyond Words: A Tacit Dialect of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly open. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly. What is notable 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 older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words? It's not the preferred method of connecting, 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 is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be articulated with words? The debate continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold equal value, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.