It is good to talk. Or so men are often instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the common 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 could they possibly be doing, all that time? Why haven't they asked how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is managing the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male closeness—based on seemingly sidestepping meaningful conversation—can appear strangely empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that over a quarter of British men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is endemic; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly outstrip female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently angry for unspoken reasons. Suppressing everything up helps no one.
However, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the closeness developed among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been published as a paper contending that, particularly for men raised in an era of the stiff upper lip, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in comfortable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This muted model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states.
Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: just because it's not your preferred idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whichever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who likewise appreciate less chatter.
Thankfully, 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 isn't for everyone, and that deeper things may be happening beneath the exterior of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right?
As a female viewpoint, one is obviously no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional experience indicates that while men may be hesitant initially to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be remarkably forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely.
Furthermore, while modern men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at voicing feelings, older men are far from unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as acceptable "political opinions" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly.
The most striking about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what looks remarkably like care and affection. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, cracked 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 naming the obvious issue.
It's not the ideal method of connecting, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is simply the awareness that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, does that always be articulated with words?
This discussion persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship hold equal worth, respectively meeting the emotional needs of different individuals in unique effective way.
Lena Visser is a mindfulness coach and writer passionate about helping others find inner peace.