It is good to talk. Or so men are repeatedly instructed, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the partners they live with. These women are puzzled by the typical male habit to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet return utterly clueless about the significant events in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that time? How come they didn't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose personal friendships typically center on an intimate and detailed knowledge of each other's private feelings, this form of male closeness—based on apparently avoiding meaningful conversation—can appear oddly hollow and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that over a quarter of UK men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to visit a doctor until seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, seem permanently frustrated for unarticulated reasons. Suppressing everything up helps nobody.
Reconsidering the Merit of Silent Companionship
Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may sell short the merits of the strong and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, from Durham University, was researching volunteers at a historic steam railway in northern England when he was struck by the bond developed among these mostly older men. His four-year observation has been distilled into a paper contending that, particularly for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships centered on shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underrated.
This muted form of friendship "isn't bad or anachronistic, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Granted, this can seem disconcertingly similar to how young children play—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's argument is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Perhaps we should leave these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also appreciate less talk.
Beyond Words: A Tacit Language of Concern
Fortunately, Yarrow is clearly not arguing that expressing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Rather, he makes the point that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be happening beneath the exterior of apparently reserved friendships. Could he be right?
From a female perspective, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But years of observation indicates that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up sensitive matters, once they begin, they can be astonishingly forthright. A absence of overt emotion should not be confused with a absence of feeling entirely.
Additionally, while modern men brought up in a more expressive culture may be better at voicing feelings, traditional men are far from incapable of it. Rebrand soft emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will readily express anger, yearning, disappointment, or satisfaction endlessly.
The most striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still found ways to communicate what looks remarkably like concern and affection. When an older volunteer didn't appear and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were worried. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't probe direct questions. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other pretty much as female friends would, except without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Core Question: Is Connection Require Words?
This is not the ideal method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the true therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that combats loneliness and low mood—is simply knowing that another person cares enough to walk through life's difficulties with you, must that always be put into words?
The debate persists. Maybe the most constructive approach is to recognize that varied forms of friendship carry equal value, each satisfying the psychological needs of different individuals in unique powerful way.
