🔗 Share this article Male Bonds Develop One Way, Women's Relationships Another. Is It Time to Halt Efforts to Turn Men More Like Women? It's beneficial to talk. That's what men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are puzzled by the typical male propensity to spend 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? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—based on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can seem oddly hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up helps no one. Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably open. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Additionally, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, discontent, or satisfaction for hours. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, told 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 verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not the preferred way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—what 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? The debate continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that different forms of friendship hold comparable value, each satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.
It's beneficial to talk. That's what men are constantly told, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are puzzled by the typical male propensity to spend 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? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father? For women, whose own friendships typically center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—based on apparently avoiding serious conversation—can seem oddly hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing emotions up helps no one. Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Friendship Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated. This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states. Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise value less chatter. Beyond Verbal Expression: A Tacit Language of Care Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right? As a woman's viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably open. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether. Additionally, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are not at all incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "political opinions" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, discontent, or satisfaction for hours. The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, told 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 verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room. The Core Issue: Does Bonding Need Words? This is not the preferred way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—what 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? The debate continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that different forms of friendship hold comparable value, each satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.