🔗 Share this article Male Bonds Develop One Way, Women's Friendships Another. Should We Halt Efforts to Turn Men Into Women? It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain puzzled by the common male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? 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 personal friendships typically center on an intimate and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem strangely hollow and sad. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up benefits 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, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right? From a female viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their aversion 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 observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Essential Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, must that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship hold comparable value, respectively satisfying the emotional needs of different individuals in their own effective way.
It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain puzzled by the common male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? 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 personal friendships typically center on an intimate and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem strangely hollow and sad. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of British men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling everything up benefits 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, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less talk. Past Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Concern Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Is he right? From a female viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly candid. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether. Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their aversion 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 observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Essential Question: Does Bonding Require Words? It's not the preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, must that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship hold comparable value, respectively satisfying the emotional needs of different individuals in their own effective way.