🔗 Share this article Masculine Connections Develop Differently, Women's Relationships A Distinct Way. Ought We Stop Trying to Push Men More Like Women? It is good to talk. Or so men are often advised, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home with no insight 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 managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. 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, except without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to recognize that different forms of friendship carry equal value, respectively meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.
It is good to talk. Or so men are often advised, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. These women are bemused by the typical male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home with no insight 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 managing the loss of his father? For women, whose personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits nobody. Reconsidering the Merit of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter. Past Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. 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, except without ever naming the obvious issue. The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words? This is not everyone's preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that someone is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be put into words? This discussion persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to recognize that different forms of friendship carry equal value, respectively meeting the psychological needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.