It's healthy to talk. That's what men are constantly advised, by everyone from mental health campaigners to the women they live with. They remain perplexed by the typical male propensity to pass an entire evening in the pub with longstanding friends, yet come home with no insight about the significant events in each other's lives. What could they possibly be doing, all that while? Why haven't they inquired how X is handling his breakup, or how Y is dealing with the loss of his father?
For women, whose own friendships often center on an deep and detailed understanding of each other's innermost feelings, this form of male intimacy—built on seemingly avoiding meaningful conversation—can look strangely empty and unfulfilling. No wonder, one might think, that more than 25% of UK men state having zero close friends; that male loneliness is widespread; that many refuse to see a doctor unless in dire straits; that male suicide rates consistently outstrip female ones; and that countless middle-aged men, especially, appear chronically frustrated for unspoken reasons. Suppressing emotions up benefits nobody.
Yet, as per anthropologist Thomas Yarrow, this view may undervalue 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 forged among these predominantly older men. His lengthy observation has been published as a paper arguing that, especially for men brought up in an era of the emotional restraint, the value of friendships built around shared hobbies—"doing things together, often in companionable silence"—may be underappreciated.
This quiet model of friendship "isn't bad or outdated, it's just distinct," Yarrow states.
Admittedly, this can sound disconcertingly similar to how young children play—next to each other rather than directly with each other. But Yarrow's point is evident: simply due to the fact that it's not your ideal idea of friendship doesn't imply it lacks significance. Maybe we should let these men in peace with their trains, golf, or vintage auto projects—whatever pursuit allows them to spend time in the presence of others who likewise appreciate less talk.
Fortunately, Yarrow is explicitly not arguing that showing emotion is weak, nor calling for a return to the past. Instead, he highlights that touchy-feely talk isn't for everyone, and that more may be occurring beneath the surface of seemingly reticent friendships. Is he right?
As a woman's viewpoint, one is clearly no expert on male-to-male conversation. But professional observation suggests that while men may be more reluctant at first to discuss sensitive matters, once they do, they can be astonishingly forthright. A lack of visible emotion should not be confused with a lack of feeling altogether.
Additionally, while younger men brought up in a more emotionally open culture may be more adept at voicing feelings, older men are not at all unable of it. Repackage vulnerable emotions as masculine "sports loyalty" or "team allegiance," and many men will readily vent anger, hope, disappointment, or satisfaction for hours.
What is notable about Yarrow's railway volunteers is that, for all their aversion of discussing feelings, they still managed to communicate what looks remarkably like care and affection. When an elderly volunteer was absent and later returned clearly unwell, his friends noticed and were concerned. But, as the professor records, they intentionally didn't ask direct questions. Rather, they offered tea, cracked jokes, and tried to be discreetly supportive while maintaining normality. They were looking out for each other much as female friends would, except without ever naming the elephant in the room.
This is not the ideal method of bonding, and it may not be yours. But if the real therapeutic value of friendship—the thing that fights loneliness and despair—is fundamentally knowing that someone cares enough to be present in life's difficulties with you, must that always be put into words?
The debate continues. Perhaps the healthiest approach is to acknowledge that varied forms of friendship hold comparable value, respectively satisfying the emotional needs of various individuals in unique effective way.
Elena Hartwell is a multidisciplinary artist and educator passionate about fostering creative communities in London.