Men’s mental health is a hot topic. We are urged to open up, to disclose more, to talk about our feelings. Do that, we are told, and the world — and we — will be better for it.

But for many men, this well-intentioned prescription misses something elemental. Even as we are urged to cultivate resilience, the quiet freedoms that keep us mentally alive and anchored are being stripped away. As so often now, we leap to conclusions without patience for cause or consequence — we have judgement, you follow.

When “Opening Up” Isn’t the Answer

Standard mental-health advice often assumes that talking about feelings is the universal solution. Yet research suggests that for many men, this isn’t where they find support, strength, or intimacy.

A recent headline captured it neatly:

“Banter is ‘better’ for blokes’ mental health than talking about feelings.”

Professor Thomas Yarrow, senior lecturer in social anthropology at Durham University, found that male friendships often thrive not on disclosure but on shared activity, humour, and presence. Men bond by doing things together — sometimes with very little said at all.

As Yarrow observed, it wasn’t that men couldn’t open up; it was that many didn’t want to. Particularly among older men, support and closeness are often found through companionship rather than confession. This isn’t outdated or unhealthy — it’s simply a different way of relating.

A close friend of mine died recently. With months left to live, the last thing he wanted was to discuss his illness. What he wanted was normality: the same group of blokes, the same jokes, the same merciless banter.

That was how he was supported, a deliberate ethic of care — with humour at its heart. He didn’t need words of consolation; his support was his people.

Strength Through Companionship

What sustains many men’s route to resilience is something quieter and more robust: time spent with people who share their values, interests, and outlook on life.

These relationships are commonly rooted in place and purpose. And yes, that often means the countryside — now strangely suspect terrain in modern politics.

We meet through field and team sports, clubs, societies, and shared hobbies. Afterwards, we gather to compare notes, swap stories, argue, and learning — all while believing, with a wink, that we know more than we probably do.

These spaces matter. They are somewhere to meet, somewhere to belong, for a mental holiday — a weekend distilled into a couple of hours.

Conversation moves easily from work and politics to family and the wider world, under an unspoken Chatham House rule. Generations mix, opinions differ, and humour softens disagreement. Little is off limits — and when it is, you can shut it down. That freedom is not incidental. It is vital.

Cigars, Choice, and Adult Freedom – The Value of Slowing Down

These gatherings are deliberately unhurried. They allow space to think, to laugh, and to be present — helped along by a drink (whatever you fancy) and, for our club, a cigar.

A cigar forces you to slow down. It lowers the pulse. It demands attention. Whether it’s whisky, wine, or beer, alongside it is secondary; the point is time deliberately set aside.

Lord Johnson of Lainston recently offered one of the clearest defences of cigars in the House of Lords. His argument was simple: cigars are about freedom, not addiction.

He spoke of a village (I confess to know that village) of cigar evenings where people meet weekly to slow down, share a cigar, and talk. A proper cigar takes time — an hour at least — from careful lighting to unhurried enjoyment. That time is not incidental; it is the point.

“A cigar is not a product for hurried consumption. It is a conscious decision to be present — with flavour, with thought, and with company. That choice is part of adult autonomy.

Cigars belong to a culture shaped over centuries: farmers, fermenters, rollers, specialist shops, and clubs that treat them as a civilised pleasure. Walk into a great cigar shop in London or elsewhere, and you can feel that history immediately.

When cigars are lazily lumped together with cigarettes, that craft and intention are erased. Most cigar smokers indulge occasionally, slowly, and with intent — not as a habitual reflex. That distinction matters.”

And Here’s the Problem

We are told:

The pastimes and freedoms that have long sustained many men are being quietly narrowed or  digitised. We are told that tradition is a burden rather than an inheritance; that risk is recklessness; that male spaces require justification; that humour must be policed; that success should come with apology; that aspiration itself is suspect. What was once passed on — land, craft, custom, independence — is now treated as something to be unlearned. And all smoking, including cigars, is to be outlawed.

But strip away the places men meet, the rituals that slow them down, and the freedoms that allow them to belong, and it should be no surprise when mental health suffers. After all, we used to be good at maths; then calculators came along. We used to be good at navigating; then sat nav came along. We used to be good at reading; then TikTok came along. And we used to be good at reasoning, until social media forced us down a one-way route. ‘Like or Dislike’. Let us still be able to reason.

So yes — let me raise a glass to your good health in 2026, wherever you are, grand lodge or decrepit shed.  Top of Form

Reason with a cigar

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