It is good to talk. That's what men are often told, from sources ranging from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the common male tendency to pass an entire evening in the pub with decades-old friends, yet come home with no insight about the personal struggles in each other's lives. What might they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they inquired how X is coping with his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often revolve around an intimate and encyclopaedic understanding of each other's private feelings, this style of male closeness—built on apparently sidestepping meaningful conversation—can look oddly empty and sad. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of British men report having no close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many hesitate to visit a doctor unless seriously ill; that male suicide rates repeatedly exceed female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, in particular, appear permanently angry for unarticulated reasons. Bottling emotions up benefits no one.
Reconsidering the Value of Silent Friendship
However, according to anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this perspective may undervalue the merits of the resilient and quiet friendship. Professor Yarrow, based at Durham University, was studying volunteers at a heritage steam railway in northern England when he was impressed with the closeness forged among these predominantly older men. His four-year study has been distilled into a paper arguing that, especially 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This quiet model of friendship "is not deficient or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow suggests.
Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how young children play—alongside each other rather than engaging with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: just because it's not your ideal version of friendship doesn't mean it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or classic car projects—whatever pursuit allows them to enjoy time in the presence of others who also appreciate less chatter.
Past Words: The Unspoken Dialect of Care
Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor advocating for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk is not for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reserved friendships. Could he be right?
From a female viewpoint, I'm obviously no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation suggests that while men may be more reluctant initially to open up personal matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly open. A absence of overt emotion should not be equated with a lack of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while younger men raised in a more expressive culture may be better at articulating feelings, traditional men are not at all unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "club allegiance," and many men will happily vent anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
What is striking about Yarrow's railway enthusiasts is that, for all their horror of discussing feelings, they nonetheless managed to communicate what seems remarkably like care and solidarity. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends observed and were concerned. However, as the professor notes, they intentionally didn't probe what was wrong. Instead, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be subtly supportive while maintaining routine. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, but without ever verbally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
The Essential Question: Does Bonding Require Words?
It's not the ideal way of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real beneficial value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is simply the awareness that another person cares enough to walk through life's challenges with you, must that always be put into words?
The debate persists. Maybe the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship carry comparable value, each satisfying the emotional needs of various individuals in their own powerful way.
