Masculine Connections Form One Way, Women's Friendships Another. Should We Halt Efforts to Make Men More Like Women?
It is beneficial to talk. Or so men are repeatedly instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are perplexed by the typical male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they asked how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often revolve around an deep and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can look strangely empty and sad. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of UK men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits nobody.
Rethinking the Value of Silent Friendship
However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper arguing that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow states.
Admittedly, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whichever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also appreciate less chatter.
Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Care
Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk is not for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reticent friendships. Could he be right?
From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional experience indicates that while men may be hesitant at first to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, discontent, or satisfaction for hours.
The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their aversion of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what seems remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and then returned struggling, his friends noticed and were concerned. However, 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 normality. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue.
The Core Question: Does Bonding Need Words?
This is not everyone's preferred way of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person is there enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that invariably be articulated with words?
The debate persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable value, respectively meeting the emotional needs of different individuals in their own effective way.
