When my little brother was a child, he and his best friend would amble about the playground chatting non-stop, their arms draped around each other's tiny shoulders. They were the textbook example of the platonic human "click" we all experience, hopefully, at some point in our lives. If we're lucky, more than once or twice. Friendship in its purest form: unselfconscious, gentle, and trusting.
Fast forward ten years, and my brother's male friendships were unrecognisable. Like most teenage boys, they traveled around in packs, so he was never without physical proximity to his "mates". But the emotional proximity had all but gone. In its place was swagger, a protective bravado that saw his language and posture change immediately in their presence. The closeness I'd witnessed had dissipated, like mist.
Then I grew up, and had boyfriends, and noticed the same thing. Nothing as blatant as teenage bravado - these were men in their 20s and 30s - but even when they were close to their male friends, it was still just close-ish. Plenty of hang-time, but very little - if any - emotional disclosure. Which, for someone like me (whose girlfriends have seen me crumple like a hysterical rag doll numerous times, and vice versa) appeared stifled and fulfilling. A blatant slap in the face of friendship's capacity to nurture and support.
A recent piece in Salon addresses this conundrum. Citing both her own and others' research on the topic, sociologist Lisa Wade says that white heterosexual men have fewer friends than any other demographic. This, despite their yearning for closer, more intimate platonic connections with other men: