🔗 Share this article Male Connections Evolve One Way, Women's Relationships Other. Is It Time to Stop Trying to Turn Men Into Women? It's healthy to talk. Or so men are often instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are puzzled by the typical male tendency to spend 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? How come they didn't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships often center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow 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 pervasive; that many hesitate to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up helps no one. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Companionship However, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been published as 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 comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise value less chatter. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, 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 verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? This is not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words? The debate persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship carry comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It's healthy to talk. Or so men are often instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are puzzled by the typical male tendency to spend 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? How come they didn't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships often center on an intimate and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can look strangely hollow 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 pervasive; that many hesitate to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up helps no one. Rethinking the Merit of Silent Companionship However, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been published as 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 comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise value less chatter. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Dialect of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, 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 verbally acknowledging the obvious issue. The Core Question: Is Connection Need Words? This is not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be articulated with words? The debate persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship carry comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.