🔗 Share this article Male Bonds Develop Differently, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Should We Stop Trying to Push Men More Like Women? It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male habit 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 might they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven't they asked 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 intimate and detailed understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male intimacy—built on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the merits of the resilient 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 bond developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—next to 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 significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly open. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Essential Question: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the 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 knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, must that invariably be put into words? The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship carry equal worth, each meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male habit 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 might they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven't they asked 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 intimate and detailed understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male intimacy—built on seemingly sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits no one. Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the merits of the resilient 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 bond developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—next to 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 significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter. Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly open. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, hope, discontent, or pride for hours. What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room. The Essential Question: Is Connection Need Words? It's not the 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 knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, must that invariably be put into words? The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship carry equal worth, each meeting the emotional needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.