Masculine Bonds Develop Differently, Women's Relationships A Distinct Way. Ought We Cease Attempting to Turn Men More Like Women?

It's good to talk. Or so men are repeatedly advised, by everyone from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain puzzled by the typical male tendency 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? How come they didn't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?

For women, whose personal friendships typically revolve around an deep and detailed understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male intimacy—based on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can look oddly hollow and sad. No wonder, 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, especially, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up helps no one.

Rethinking the Value of Silent Friendship

Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy study has been published as a paper arguing that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.

This quiet form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.

Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how toddlers interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who also appreciate less chatter.

Past Words: The Unspoken Language of Care

Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Could he be right?

As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether.

Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction for hours.

The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what looks remarkably like care and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue.

The Core Issue: Does Bonding Need Words?

It's not the ideal way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person is there enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be articulated with words?

The debate continues. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship hold comparable value, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.