Quent of a Woman

It used to be just the preserve of universities but now it seems they are everywhere. They live in shared houses with usually 4 other women but haven’t slept with any of them, their opinions are safe and measured not to offend anyone and worst of all they use collective terms like “guys “ and “people” and when they occasionally get in a bad mood they might summon up the hatred to utter –“oh for sure”

I don’t know what you call them, a friend of mine who first spotted them  in the early 90’s calls them Quents. And the mere mention of the word conjures up goatee beards, rizzlas and a staunchly macrobiotic diet. The Quent in essence is a heterosexual man who latches on to one or more attractive women for the sole purpose of trying to one day, although in most cases fruitlessly, get into her pants. And yet when questioned they strenuously deny this.  

Now there is nothing wrong in this course of action  were it not for the fact that they totally relinquish all vestiges  of who they once were.  At some stage in their teenage years they must have stood for something but the one year spent living in a stoodent house has turned them into the worst kind of lap dog. Think Tony Blair with a roll necked sweater and James Blunt CD.

It’s not always obvious from the start when a quent will rear his head.  The catalyst is normally a filthy joke.  Years ago they probably would have belly laughed or at least nodded in agreement but now they shake their heads for all to see – “That's disgusting ” they cry as if their whole sensitive disposition  has been violently destroyed  by a mild joke about penises.  It’s one thing to feel cold, it’s another openly critiscise. He’s playing the sensitive card and he wants her to see it. However this move has back fired as she is now on the floor crying with laughter in to her snake bite. Sensing this he joins in , completely forgetting the po-faced stance he had taken. It’s ok, she is not offended I must therefore join in.

There’s nothing wrong in standing up for or displaying chivalry but the quent does it purely for brownie points rather than based on principle. Some people, believe it or not grow tired of the football team they have supported since childhood and change allegiances, the quent would do it after 5 minutes but first checking with their friends which team they support.

When  you have a man who is perpetually joined to the hip of a woman and they are not dating, the initial reaction might be – “ Is he gay”. The problem is with this is that it works on the assumption that gay men do not have opinions of their own, that they do not answer back or chastise their  friends.  I’m sure even Elton John bollocks David Furnish now and then.

And therein lies the problem. The quent is neither a work colleague or mate neither is he a boy friend so he is stranded perpetually in a buffer zone of a muted voice.  As he is neither he is not free to vent his frustrations or anger as he does not have the solid ground of love or true friendship to fall back on or at least he is not prepared to find out.  His role is very much akin to the chef who refuses to tell unruly customers to fuck off because he needs their money. And so she has him on a string but share no pity because he loves it there.

The quent’s true colours are shown when he feels threatened by another man  who might be making inroads on the object of his desires. Even worse if she actually enjoys  the advances.

“ Listen, fancy coming to Cream this weekend, there’s an all nighter on “ says the young man trying his luck. Before she has a chance to respond the quent is in  “  Yeah I wouldn’t bother ,  Laura and I went to the real Cream at Amnesia in Ibiza this summer , it was banging, no chavs or anything like that just proper good looking, intelligent clubbers .. the pills were amazing, not like the weak one’s you get in the UK.”

Before Mixmag reaches the end of the runway, Laura speaks-

“ I’d love to go “

“ But we were going to go shopping in Manchester this weekend?”

“ Oh we can re-arrange that for another week”

And lo and behold they never do re-arrange as she has now found a boyfriend. And so the quent steps up his game to win her back. He’s in the same pub when they go out and just has to go over and share the stressful day of one lecture he has had , he’s  watching telly downstairs when they come back from the nightclub and refuses to make himself scarce and plans nights out knowing she won’t say no -

“ I got tickets for Dirty Dancing being shown in the Student’s Union, I know it’s your favourite “ . He says beeming like a Cheshire cat.

The poor boyfriend hasn’t had a chance to work these things out yet. Why ask direct questions about the hobbies and interests of your girlfriend when you have her world’s biggest fan sitting on a bean bag.

When the issue of the quent’s interference is raised it is normally met with – “ oh he’s ok “ , “ he means well “ or even worse  “ he’s  a mate , mate’s look out for each other.” Just not in the same fucking bed.

And so her inability to tell  “ Si “ to fuck off results in another relationship casualty. And so the status quo is resumed.  He continues to massage her ego – “ Smoking is so passé unless of course you like it “ and she continues to retain the upper hand which he is happy to revel in. On this basis who needs honesty.