Male Bonds Form Differently, Women's Relationships A Distinct Way. Should We Stop Trying to Push Men Into Women?
It's beneficial to talk. Or so men are constantly told, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the partners they live with. These women are puzzled by the typical male tendency to spend an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? How come they didn't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships typically revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this style of male closeness—based on seemingly avoiding serious conversation—can seem strangely empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem chronically angry for unspoken reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one.
Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Companionship
Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may sell short the strengths of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in the north of England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy study has been distilled into a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships centered on shared activities—"shared activity, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, 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 clear: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever activity allows them to spend time in the company of others who likewise value less chatter.
Past Words: A Tacit Dialect of Concern
Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Instead, he makes the point that emotionally expressive talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reserved friendships. Could he be right?
As a woman's perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation suggests that while men may be hesitant at first to discuss personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling entirely.
Furthermore, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
The most striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like concern and solidarity. When an older volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were worried. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue.
The Core Question: Does Bonding Require Words?
This is not the ideal way of bonding, 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 walk through life's difficulties with you, must that invariably be put into words?
The debate persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold comparable value, respectively satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique powerful way.
