Male Friendships Form One Way, Female Friendships Another. Ought We Halt Efforts to Push Men More Like Women?
It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are constantly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. They remain bemused by the common male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose personal friendships often center on an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many refuse to visit a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, appear chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody.
Reconsidering the Value of Quiet Companionship
However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these mostly older men. His lengthy study has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships built around shared activities—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This muted model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states.
Admittedly, this can seem oddly similar to how toddlers interact—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also appreciate less talk.
Beyond Words: The Unspoken Dialect of Concern
Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that expressing emotion is harmful, nor calling for a reversion 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 apparently reserved friendships. Is he right?
As a female viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Furthermore, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express frustration, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. 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 maintaining routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Essential Issue: Is Connection Need Words?
It's not the preferred way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—what that fights loneliness and despair—is simply knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be put into words?
The debate continues. Maybe the healthiest approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship carry equal worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in their own effective way.
