It's good to talk. Or so men are often advised, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet return with no insight about the personal struggles 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 dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often center on an intimate and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can look strangely hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, we think, that more than 25% of UK men report having zero close friends; that male loneliness is pervasive; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that many middle-aged men, in particular, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody.
However, as per researcher Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the merits of the resilient and silent friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in the north of England when he was struck by the closeness forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study 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 underrated.
This quiet form of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Granted, this can seem oddly similar to how young children interact—next to each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is clear: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks value. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever activity allows them to enjoy time in the company of others who also value less talk.
Thankfully, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a reversion to the past. Rather, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Could he be right?
As a female perspective, I'm clearly no expert on male-to-male dialogue. But professional observation suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up personal matters, once they begin, they can be remarkably candid. A absence of visible emotion should not be equated with a absence of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while younger men brought up in a more expressive culture may be more adept at articulating feelings, older men are not at all incapable of it. Rebrand vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent frustration, yearning, discontent, or pride for hours.
What is notable about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, despite their horror of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and then returned struggling, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they deliberately didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, told jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while keeping routine. They were caring for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the obvious issue.
This is not everyone's ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that another person is there enough to walk through life's challenges with you, does that invariably be articulated with words?
This discussion persists. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied styles of friendship carry comparable worth, each satisfying the psychological needs of various individuals in unique effective way.
A digital content strategist with a passion for British culture and storytelling, based in London.