Masculine Connections Evolve Differently, Women's Friendships A Distinct Way. Is It Time to Halt Efforts to Turn Men More Like Women?

It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are constantly instructed, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. These women are puzzled 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 could 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 typically center on an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can look oddly empty and sad. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many refuse to see a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody.

Rethinking the Merit of Quiet Companionship

Yet, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated.

This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.

Granted, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—alongside each other rather than engaging 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. 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 value less chatter.

Past Words: The Unspoken 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 is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right?

From a woman's viewpoint, one is clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether.

Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, older men are far from incapable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, hope, disappointment, or pride for hours.

What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like care and affection. When an older 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 what was wrong. Instead, they made tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the obvious issue.

The Essential Question: Does Bonding Require Words?

It's not everyone's ideal method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is simply the awareness that someone cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that always be articulated with words?

The debate continues. Maybe the most constructive approach is to acknowledge that different styles of friendship hold comparable value, each meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in their own effective way.