Masculine Bonds Evolve One Way, Female Relationships Other. Should We Stop Trying to Make Men More Like Women?
It's good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly instructed, by everyone from mental health advocates to the women they live with. These women are puzzled by the common male tendency to pass 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 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 personal friendships often center on an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male intimacy—based on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can seem strangely empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to see a doctor until in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling everything up helps nobody.
Rethinking the Value of Quiet Companionship
Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the strengths of the strong and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at 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 predominantly older men. His lengthy study has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"shared activity, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just different," Yarrow suggests.
Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children interact—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 preferred version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less talk.
Past Words: The Unspoken Language of Concern
Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right?
As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably open. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while modern men raised in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express frustration, yearning, discontent, or satisfaction endlessly.
The most 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 was absent and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever naming the obvious issue.
The Essential Question: 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 combats loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that invariably be articulated with words?
The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship carry equal worth, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in their own effective way.
