Masculine Connections Form One Way, Female Relationships Another. Ought We Stop Trying to Turn Men Into Women?

It's good to talk. That's what men are repeatedly told, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male propensity to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven'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 intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male closeness—built on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear oddly hollow and sad. It's no surprise, we think, that over a quarter of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up benefits no one.

Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship

However, according to researcher Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the bond developed among these predominantly older men. His four-year observation has been distilled into a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated.

This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states.

Granted, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how young children play—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 idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the presence of others who also value less talk.

Past Words: The Unspoken Language of Care

Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that deeper things may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right?

As a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But years of experience suggests that while men may be hesitant initially to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably candid. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling entirely.

Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from unable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, yearning, discontent, or pride endlessly.

What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Instead, they made tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue.

The Core Issue: Does Bonding Need Words?

It's not the preferred method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person cares enough to be present in life's challenges with you, does that invariably be articulated with words?

This discussion persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship carry comparable worth, respectively satisfying the emotional needs of various individuals in their own effective way.