I’ve been thinking about my guy friends a lot—enough to maybe creep them out. Maintaining male friendships is strangely paradoxical. It’s like a tennis rally that bounces between “I don’t think they really get me” and “they’re the only ones who actually get me.” It’s strange, but in a funny way. 

Once, at a house party, a friend of an ex remarked on how men tend to size each other up. Shoulders straighten, backs stiffen, voices drop a notch as they go, “Sup, man?” complete with the universal head nod reserved for unfamiliar guys. You don’t notice it until someone points it out. Cue the glass-shattering realization: now you can’t not see how hilariously primal it is. Like a cat or dog doing a cautious sniff with a new stranger in their territory—minus the butt sniffing, of course (most of the time). 
 

It gets funnier with age, I reckon. I’ve had my fingers nearly crushed by too many “firm handshakes,” each squeeze an attempt to establish who’s the “alpha.” I’ve been guilty of it too, though it never has the effect we’re led to believe it will. Yet, there’s something pathetically charming about it. I guess that’s men in a nutshell. 

Making guy friends is easier than you’d think—years of Engineering college and an auto publication newsroom have taught me. We’re simple, I think. Male friendships are different from friendships between men and women. Think of it like menswear versus womenswear. One is a very, very tiny circle, all about pushing boundaries. The other is a huge circle, with enough room to grow and do your own thing. Neither’s better or worse, just different. 
 

Male friendships are a bit like synchronized swimming—you need to be on the same wavelength with your crew to bond. And bond you do. Every guy knows the choreography: the handshake-to-shoulder-bump, the back-thumping. Every guy knows how to bring the same energy to conversations ranging from “that sucks, bro” to “she’s not worth it, bro.” 

But here’s the rub: staying in sync is much more difficult. A new relationship, a move, a job shift—any of these can nudge that unspoken choreography off-kilter. Suddenly, the comfortable rhythm’s gone, and months, even years, pass by without a word exchanged. 

And that’s the thing about male friendships. Things don’t have to be said; efforts don’t have to be made. Everything just flows. You’re allowed to be yourself—even though jokes will be made at your expense. The minute a third person messes with you, though, your boy gang will be there and have your back. 
 

That’s the unique thing about your male friends—when you finally catch up, grab a beer, and realize it’s as if no time has passed. It’s a bit of magic, really. One minute you’re wondering if they still care or if the thread has unravelled. And the next? You’re right back in it, laughing over the same stupid jokes, swapping updates in the language that only you two understand. There’s a sense of relief in the simplicity of it. It’s like we’re programmed to leave off and pick up at the exact same point, sharing a moment that says, “I missed you, man,” without a word being spoken. There’s a quiet comfort in these friendships, a kind of home you always carry with you. 

Maybe that’s why we don’t need to say “I love you.” It’s the type of bond that doesn’t ask for much. It’s there in the 2 AM drives, the way we poke fun at each other with a smile, or in the knowing look across the room when one of us is about to do something truly stupid. It’s a thousand unspoken things that somehow mean everything. 
 

So here’s to the guys who will never say it but will always show it in those small ways that matter. Here’s to the ones who’ll crack a joke to cover the fact that they care, who’d rather rough you up than admit they’d miss you. Because maybe that’s all we need: knowing that, after all this time, we’re still there for each other, somewhere in the background, ready to pick things up right where we left off. 

And when we finally sit back with a drink, in the middle of some absurd story that’s been retold a dozen times, there’s this moment—a quiet, unspoken understanding that we’re in this together, through thick and thin, even if we never quite say the words. That’s the heart of it. I think that’s why I love my guy friends. But I’ll never tell them, of course.