Masculine Connections Evolve One Way, Female Relationships Another. Ought We Cease Attempting to Push Men More Like Women?
It's good to talk. Or so men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health advocates to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? 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 revolve around an deep and detailed knowledge of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male closeness—based on apparently sidestepping serious conversation—can appear strangely hollow and unfulfilling. It's no surprise, one might think, that more than 25% of British men state having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to visit a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Bottling everything up helps no one.
Rethinking the Merit of Silent Companionship
Yet, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was researching volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His four-year study has been published as a paper contending that, especially for men raised in an era of the emotional restraint, the worth of friendships centered on shared activities—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underrated.
This muted form of friendship "is not deficient or anachronistic, it's just different," Yarrow states.
Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how toddlers play—alongside each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Perhaps we should let 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 likewise appreciate less chatter.
Beyond Verbal Expression: The Unspoken Language of Care
Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not claiming that expressing emotion is harmful, nor advocating for a reversion to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Is he right?
From a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional observation indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Furthermore, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Repackage soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will happily express anger, hope, discontent, or pride for hours.
The most notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless found ways to express what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an elderly volunteer didn't appear and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. But, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't probe what was wrong. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue.
The Essential Issue: Does Bonding Need Words?
This is not the preferred method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and low mood—is fundamentally knowing that someone is there enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, does that always be articulated with words?
The debate continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that different forms of friendship hold equal worth, respectively meeting the psychological needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
