I spend a fair amount of time with my mates and I have probably evaluated my friendships a lot. Perhaps that sounds a bit cold and clinical but I think we all do it to some extent. Writing and listening to numerous wedding speeches also gives you different perspectives on how you measure a friendship.
Another reason to write this was Rob Burrows and Kevin Sinfield. They were best friends and recently retired rugby league players. The former was diagnosed with MND and died earlier this year. Throughout Burrow’s illness, Sinfield undertook several immense physical challenges such as running 7 ultramarathons in 7 days in a bid to raise money and awareness for MND. Whilst incredibly impressive, it is not remarkable in the sense that people raising money for charity when friends and family members are ill is commonplace. The thing that stood out was how Sinfield, a tough northern man that played arguably the most masculine of sports, spoke publicly about how much he loved Burrow throughout his friend’s debilitating illness. When Burrow died, Sinfield released a statement that ended with ‘I will miss you my little mate. All my love, Kev.’ It takes a lot to move me to tears but that’ll do it.
Were they always so honest about their strength of feelings or did it take the grim spectre of death to draw the words from their mouths? I find men telling their mates they love them particularly powerful because I am so terrible at doing it in my own life. That inability is not restricted to my friendships but, for the sake of brevity, I won’t dwell on that. I feel generally that men don’t tell their friends how much they value them anywhere near as much as women do. I think this is an obvious hangover of men generally struggling to discuss their feelings with one another. And that’s what I want to write about.
Ask most people to characterise male friendship and they’d probably use the b word. Banter. A word that makes me think of Alan Partridge and posh blokes called Archie who think grabbing a waitress’ bum is just a bit of harmless fun. A tiresome term but widely understood within our culture. Anyway, it’s what we men do with one another. We spend most of our time relentlessly targeting weakness, perceived or otherwise. Questionable haircuts, sartorial missteps and romantic entanglements. It’s all fair game. I saw it in the young boys I used to teach; I see it in my dad’s glee when he winds up his friends. I actually think that The Inbetweeners provides a very accurate portrayal of male friendship. There is constant merciless ribbing but, in more tender moments, between the filthy fables about Dutch girls and ill-judged frisbee throws, glimpses of love and support can be seen. In my experience, that’s how men are with one another. I recently went on holiday with one of my best friends and two of his mates. I had only really spent one weekend with them before but was confident enough they would be good companions on our Tucci-tinged tour of Italy. It didn’t take long to slip into that familiar pattern of teasing, a common grammar that binds men. Chat dominated but childhoods and families were discussed in between mouthfuls of pasta.
Of course, not everybody is receptive to the b word. Each person has their own line in the sand. Part of friendship is learning what your mates can tolerate and what you are willing to put up with yourself. It’s verbal sparring but you don’t actually want to land a knockout blow. To an outsider, a girlfriend for example, the insults might seem vitriolic, but I feel that men are well-adapted to differentiate between cruelty and cheek. Occasionally the guise of banter is used to conceal actual snark but it is fairly obvious if so. Even online, where the tone of messages is so often misconstrued, genuine spite can easily be spotted and is thankfully vanishingly rare. (Amongst proper mates at least).
Belittling builds connection. Other topics might be covered too, amongst my friends it’s mostly sport and popular culture. However, the goal is always laughter. The trouble with that is that it leaves little room for much else. When the atmosphere is infectiously fun you don’t want to dampen the mood with:
e m o t i o n s
and
f e e l i n g s
and
s i n c e r i t y.
On the surface, male and female friendships are very different.
Male – female friendships exist too. Some might contest that but we’ll shelve the When Harry Met Sally debate for another day.
Men are lovingly brutal to one another whereas women seem more supportive. Why does the difference exist? Is it because women have always had to support each other in a patriarchal society? Is it, ultimately, because that patriarchal society has historically dictated that men shouldn’t talk about their feelings? Are we supposed to be alpha males and just power wordlessly through any trauma? Fill the void with laughter and forget the negativity that might gnaw away at you in moments of solitude. Ignore it. Tell your mate his cholesterol won’t cope with another biscuit instead.
Perhaps our role models play their part too. It would be easy for me to say that I find being vulnerable and open difficult because I didn’t see it in my own home. But that’s not the case, my dad is more than happy to talk about his feelings. Think Cam from Modern Family with the flamboyance dialed down a little and better control over his tear ducts. Is it the men that dominate our screens? Gruff and buff like Daniel Craig in Casino Royale? I’m not so sure we can lay our emotional reticence at the feet of a fictional spy. The man self-medicates with martinis (vile) and beautiful women (not vile). I cannot take my Qs from him.
There’s a reason why there are countless campaigns that encourage men to talk to one another about their feelings. Men in the UK are three times as likely to die by suicide than women. That is the extreme but most family trees will have at least one branch that contains an emotionally repressed man who dealt with his feelings through alcohol, violence or other unhealthy means. There is no doubt that women have felt the brunt of repressed male feelings time and time again. Americans have reported having fewer close friendships and talking less often to the ones they do have. They rely on them less for personal support too. This is partly down to a more mobile workforce and people settling down later. It’s hard not to see a link between diminished friendships and high suicide rates.
Strangely enough, several female friends have commented on my previous Substack pieces remarking on how unusual it is for a man to be vulnerable. It’s not intentional but I find it so much easier to write things down when there is no friendly face looking at me expectantly or no jovial atmosphere to sour.
I know I have not really answered the question as to why men communicate chiefly through witty repartee. Nor am I advocating for it be lost in lieu of honest expressions of self. The two can co-exist comfortably and I am glad they do. Contrary to what this piece suggests, I do talk to my male friends about deeper things. I think I should do it more, but I also worry that some men don’t do it at all. I feel humour is important in friendships but there is so much more to it than that. My friends are kind. They are smart. They are thoughtful. They are the best company. They are flawed too but aren’t we all. I should probably say these things to their faces, but until I feel brave enough to do so, I will concentrate my energies on reminding them of that really embarrassing thing they did in Year 9.
Another thought provoking, well written piece. Carry on writing.
very true