Male Bonds Develop One Way, Female Relationships A Distinct Way. Ought We Stop Trying to Push Men More Like Women?

It's good to talk. That's what 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 come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they inquired 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 deep and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can look oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that more than 25% of British men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody.

Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Companionship

Yet, according to 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 the north of England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up 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 underrated.

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

Granted, this can sound oddly similar to how toddlers play—next to 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 mean it lacks value. 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 presence of others who also appreciate less chatter.

Past Words: The Unspoken Language of Care

Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that showing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the surface of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right?

As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of experience suggests that while men may be more reluctant at first to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling entirely.

Additionally, while younger men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly.

What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to express what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever naming the elephant in the room.

The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Require 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 simply the awareness that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, must that always be articulated with words?

The debate persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship carry comparable worth, each meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.