The Generation That Won't Say "I Love You" to Friends

Three simple words that are sometimes hard to say.

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I can count on one hand the number of times my father said, “I love you.” It’s not that he did not love me—it was that fact that the way he showed it was through doing rather than saying. Conversely, it would take many hands, feet, and bodies to count how many times he criticized me for any number of things, from “That was not wise” to “How come you did not work harder?”

So when I saw the survey released by Ipsos/King's College London that “almost a third of Gen Z men agree a wife should obey her husband,” up from 13 percent for Boomers, it brought back my childhood, where we always had to obey our parents, particularly my father, because "I'm your father."

While that statistic is depressing, what struck me even more, actually stopped me in my tracks, was deeper down, buried on page 76.

The Finding Nobody Led With

Thirty-one percent of Gen-Z men, compared to 20 percent of Boomer men, agreed with the following statement: “Men should not say 'I love you' to their friends.” Even more shocking was that 21 percent of Gen-Z women agreed with that statement as well—that’s higher than Boomer men.

This points to an alarming trend and why I feel Gen-Z is the loneliest generation—they seem to have a level of disconnection that manifests itself in simple yet powerful statements of caring. But the gender comparison makes it even more striking.

When women are asked a similar question, “Women should not say 'I love you' to their friends,” on page 59, the results are different. Twelve percent of Boomer women and 18 percent of Gen-Z women agree with that statement, while 16 percent of Boomer men and 31 percent of Gen-Z men agree. There is clearly a cultural shift happening, and while it's happening to both men and women, the effect is much greater for men.

Why This Matters

My father wasn't unusual. But what I experienced with my male friends was different. We rarely said "I love you" unless a few drinks were involved—but when it happened, nobody flinched. Sharing feelings was hard and awkward, sure. Just not as rigid as what the data suggests for Gen-Z men.

Something has shifted. The culture has doubled down on the idea of the stoic man who takes on the world alone. Self-reliance and competency are genuinely valuable. But no man is an island, and no man has ever achieved anything meaningful without others behind him.

When men can't express love to their friends, friendships thin out. And when friendships thin out, the consequences go beyond loneliness. Anne Case and Angus Deaton's research on what they call "deaths of despair"—death by suicide, overdose, and alcohol—documents what happens at the far end of male isolation. The words we don't say have a cost. It shows up in the data.

Love U Bro

She Is Not Your Rehab, founded by New Zealand couple Matt and Sarah Brown, is directly addressing the power of saying the words out loud. They launched Love U Bro Day in 2024—an annual event held on September 4th, where men write "Love U Bro" on their faces and go about their day, raising awareness and funds for men's mental health and family violence initiatives. In its first year, the campaign reached more than 17 million people.

The videos of men calling their friends and actually saying the words are worth watching. There is something quietly powerful about watching a grown man pick up the phone, say "Love you bro," and mean it. What Love U Bro reveals is that the instinct is still there. When men are given a mission, a frame, and permission to express what they actually feel—they do it. Willingly. Even enthusiastically.

The words were never the problem. The permission was.

What to Actually Do About It

You don't have to end every conversation with "I love you." That would be great—but it's also a lot to ask all at once. Start smaller. Text a friend when he crosses your mind. Make a random call for no reason. Show up.

As I've written about platonic male touch, men need to reclaim the full range of what friendship looks and sounds like—not just the side hug and the back slap, but the words, too. Keeping it all bottled up doesn't make you stronger. It just makes you quieter. And quiet, over time, becomes isolated. And isolated is the slippery slope to despair.

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I know how uncomfortable this can be. I've felt it myself. But the discomfort of saying the words is temporary. The cost of never saying them is not.

My Only Regret

During COVID, my father had a stroke. While it wasn't life-threatening, it accelerated his descent into dementia and Alzheimer's. As he neared the end of his life, he started saying "I love you" to me and my brothers more often. Sometimes the words came out clearly. Other times, he'd forget who we were entirely. But for some reason, finally, the words came.

My only regret is that I didn't tell him more often that I loved him—even knowing he probably never would have said it back. The pride and stubbornness that got in the way of that, I try now to leave behind.

The words left unsaid can be more painful than the awkwardness of saying them. If you take one thing away from this post, let it be this: Saying "I love you" is not a sign of weakness. It's a sign that someone matters enough to hear it.

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