🔗 Share this article Masculine Connections Develop One Way, Women's Relationships Another. Ought We Stop Trying to Make Men More Like Women? It's healthy to talk. Or so men are repeatedly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? 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 own friendships often center on an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and sad. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently 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 Quiet Friendship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet 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 forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—next to 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 mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Is Connection Require Words? It's not everyone's ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person is there enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship carry comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
It's healthy to talk. Or so men are repeatedly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? 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 own friendships often center on an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can look strangely hollow and sad. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently 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 Quiet Friendship However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet 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 forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the worth of friendships built around shared hobbies—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated. This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children play—next to 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 mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Concern Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right? As a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether. Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours. What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask what was wrong. Rather, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Question: Is Connection Require Words? It's not everyone's ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally the awareness that another person is there enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that invariably be articulated with words? This discussion persists. Perhaps the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship carry comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.