“Being without a close friend, being lonely, studies suggest, is as bad for your health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.”

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Friendship is going through a recession, and men are the ones hit hardest. In 1990, only 3% of young men in the U.S. said they had no close friends. Today? It’s five times that. A staggering 15% report having no one to rely on. And when things get tough, fewer men turn to friends for help—only 22%, down from 45% a few decades ago. Instead, more are turning to their parents. Something is shifting. 

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And it’s not just in the numbers—it’s in the mood. The texture of male friendship feels thinner, looser, more fragile. The old institutions that once held male bonds together—church, sports, marriage, stable jobs, long-standing communities—have deteriorated, almost to the point of extinction. What’s replaced them? Urban isolation, screen time, hyper-individualism, and workism: that creeping modern religion where your job is supposed to be your identity, your passion, and your entire social life. 

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You’d think friendship would step in to fill the void. But no—somehow, even that’s slipping away. 

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Today, most male friendships fall into two categories: workplace buddies or social media “friendships” formed through a screen. The first is familiar—desk-to-desk conversations, lunchroom jokes, beers after a long week. But how many of those connections actually last? How many go beyond surface-level chatter? Then there are the online friends. A comment here, a shared meme there. DMs, voice notes, maybe even a FaceTime. But these friendships—while they might feel intimate—often rely on curated versions of ourselves, edited with just enough charm and distance to seem interesting but not needy. 

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That is, of course, if you don’t have kids. As soon as toddlers come into the picture, the little time you had to spare is lost. Now, it’s all about increasing income, educating future decent human beings, eating as healthy as possible, hitting the gym or running—nowadays, it’s all about running—and trying not to lose your partner in the process. 

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Without regular face-to-face interaction, something essential is lost: depth, spontaneity, trust. Add to this the pressure of masculinity, “success,” and self-reliance, and you get a generation of men increasingly unable to form meaningful connections. 

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This mess amounts to what Daniel Cox and Richard Reeves have coined as the ‘friendship recession.’ 

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However, identifying the problem of the sad state in which we men find ourselves is not an outstanding achievement. With just a little reflection, one can sense how badly things are going. The real goal is to fix this! 

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Friendship offers more than companionship—it nurtures emotional stability, shapes our identity, and supports our personal growth. It gives us a space to share our vulnerabilities without fear of judgment and to evolve through mutual trust, respect, and encouragement. On top of that, friendships make us laugh and leave us with memories that continue to bring joy, even years later. They help us experience the world and navigate it with a partner in crime. 

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A friendship is a place to test ideas, to project oneself, to learn from the other, to talk and to be listened to. It’s a break from the noise, a connection that can run as deep as brotherhood. Anyone who has truly experienced one needs no further words to understand why friendship matters—and why it’s so damn beautiful. 

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This may sound like an odd moment to bring in an 18th-century Prussian philosopher. But stay with me. Immanuel Kant, the moralist thinker par excellence, didn’t exactly write a treatise on friendship. He gave us, as one commentator put it, “a brief and challenging sketch.” Still, that sketch holds unexpected power. Who knows, maybe this approach to friendship is what we need to save ourselves. 

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Let me guide you through his proposal. While doing so, keep in mind that Kant was writing for men and friendships between men—even if today’s gender-neutral culture is reluctant to admit it—which makes it a very convenient and timely resource. Oh, and also keep in mind that the guy is among the most influential thinkers in the history of our species.

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His first move is to define friendship as “the association of two persons through equal and reciprocal love and respect.” That’s it. No networking events, no shared hobbies, no career ladders—just love and respect, balanced. Yes, balanced. His idea is very demanding precisely because of that.  Love, for him, isn’t about warmth or affection. It’s a rational commitment to someone’s well-being. Respect isn’t just politeness—it’s a moral duty to see the other as an equal, as an end in themselves. 

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And here’s where it gets interesting: Kant insists that real friendship lives in the tension between love and respect. Love draws us closer, but respect reminds us not to overstep. That tension creates boundaries. It requires work. But it also protects both people from the kind of over-dependence, hierarchy, or performative closeness that so often corrodes friendships.

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In a world where male friendship is often either too shallow or too suppressed, Kant’s model offers something rare: clarity. It doesn’t ask men to spill their hearts or become each other’s life coaches. It simply says—be close, but be equal; care, but without control; open up, but don’t collapse onto the other. In a culture where emotional connection is often either romanticised or avoided, that’s a refreshing middle ground. It’s not therapeutic, and it’s not cold. It’s dignified. It gives men permission to be present without being performative, and to be vulnerable without fear of overstepping.

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Kant’s friendship requires self-awareness, mutual trust, and moral commitment. But isn’t that what we’re missing? In our productivity-driven lives, male friendships often become transactional, or seek dull entertainment. We talk shop, vent about work, maybe share a few jokes—but rarely reach deeper levels of mutual growth or moral support. 

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His model gives us something different. It asks: What if we anchored our friendships not in circumstance or convenience, but in shared moral values? Not just in fun or similarity, but in a joint pursuit of self-betterment? 

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One of the most quietly radical things Kant says is that friendship isn’t just nice—it’s a moral duty. Not in the way that taxes are a duty, but in the way that working on yourself is. You can’t force a friendship, but you can become someone worthy of one. That’s the part many miss. 

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Before perfecting friendship, you have to work on yourself. Build self-confidence rooted not in bravado or success, but in the pursuit of moral clarity. Practice approachability, generosity, sociability—the soft skills of ethical connection. That way, when a real opportunity for friendship appears, you’ll be ready. 

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And maybe that’s where the recovery starts. 

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Kant draws a helpful distinction between three types of friendship: Friendship of need (we’re friends because we benefit from each other); Friendship of taste (we share hobbies or enjoy each other’s style); Moral friendship (we are committed to one another’s well-being and ethical growth). 

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Most modern friendships fall into the first two. But they don’t last. What if we built more friendships of the third kind? Grounded in trust, in shared principles, in mutual respect—not performance, not convenience. That kind of friendship wouldn’t just help men feel less lonely. It would help them live better, more human lives. 

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Because friends—real friends—don’t just make us feel good. They make us good.