Masculine Friendships Develop One Way, Women's Relationships Another. Should We Cease Attempting to Turn Men More Like Women?

It's healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain puzzled by the common male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home 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 coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?

For women, whose own friendships often center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—based on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely empty and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to see a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing emotions up helps no one.

Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Companionship

Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths 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 developed among these mostly older men. His lengthy study has been distilled into a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.

This muted form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states.

Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—alongside each other rather than directly 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 leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter.

Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Concern

Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right?

As a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether.

Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily vent frustration, yearning, discontent, or satisfaction for hours.

The most notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room.

The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Need Words?

This is not the ideal method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that always be put into words?

The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold equal value, respectively satisfying the emotional needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.