The Thrills and Perils of Roster Dating

When 32-year-old Malvika was cheated on in her last relationship, it made her understandably wary of investing in someone again. “I wasn’t ready to trust someone, so I decided to tread cautiously. I dated people for nearly three years, but never one at a time; it was too scary a prospect.” Over the course of the last year alone, she dated four men, but kept all of them casual. “They
overlapped at some point. Maybe it wasn’t the kindest thing to do, but it felt like far less of a risk.”

In a world where ‘doom-swiping’ has become a soulless ritual that the 21st-century single is all too familiar with, it seems a reasonable approach. Swiping right, hopefully as you wade through selfies and dressed-to-impress bios, also comes with a soft lining of futility, showing itself every time someone stops replying after a week of conversation, or bails on dinner plans an hour ahead of time.

Dating in 2025 is an endurance sport. It taps into your every reserve: energy, patience, optimism. It is also, as most millennial singles will attest, a numbers game. Online dating app Tinder confirms that, as of 2025, men swipe right (i.e. ‘like’)  on 46 per cent of profiles they see, with a 0.6 per cent match rate. Most say that they start many connections, because only a fraction will persevere. Between a series of apps, mixers, and meeting people organically, to be single today is to be inundated with options, with very little by way of a screening system. The heavy lifting is all on you.

Enter the roster system: a dating line-up, in sports terms, that keeps about 3–4 players in the game until you choose your MVP. If you choose one. “The traditional idea of meeting one person and committing quickly has shifted, and people want to explore, talk to different people, and test the waters before settling,” says psychologist Mehak Rohira. “Social media and dating apps have also changed the landscape, giving people more access and more options than ever before. That freedom comes with curiosity, and roster dating often feels like a way to try out those options before making a deeper choice.”

It seems like a smart philosophy: having multiple baskets. Person A loves to travel, but Person B wants children someday. Person C is a lawyer, just like you, but Person D is a chef, just like you always wanted to be. Each person you’re sort-of seeing ticks some boxes—and it’s hard to figure out which boxes you need ticked the most. Most importantly, it allows you to explore them all until you know more.

It gives someone the chance to explore different personalities and connections without the immediate pressure of commitment, Rohira points out. “It helps people gather experience, understand their preferences, and learn what feels safe, exciting, or nourishing in a partner. In a way, it’s like getting more data points before making a big decision. It can also reduce the intensity of putting all hopes into one person too early, which sometimes leads  to disappointment.”

At the start, there seems to be little harm in playing the field. Varun, 26 (names changed to protect privacy), did it for about two years, juggling anywhere from three to six women at a time. “I know—I felt guilty even though they all knew about each other. But I just wanted to take my time and date before I made a choice. My parents were high-school sweethearts, and it ended in a bitter divorce. I didn’t want to make that mistake by committing to the first person I dated seriously.”

A polyamorous Advaita, 35, feels it’s important to advocate for the difference. “I think roster dating is different, because the finish line is monogamy. Poly isn’t that. I’ve done both, and I know the difference.” Roster dating, she espouses, is keeping your options open. Polyamory is keeping your relationships open. The end goal differs.

What all of them have in common, however, is the fatigue from it. The same study by Tinder reports that 48 per cent of women in casual relationships reported feeling emotionally drained, but it takes a toll regardless of gender. “It exhausts you,” says Varun. “There is this constant hope with each connection, that it might turn into something bigger, and then there’s the moment you realise it won’t. Initially, when I would cut that connection off, I’d be happy that I had others going. Until something about it started to feel a little gross.”

That ‘grossness’ was a constant for Malvika. “I’m a relationship person. I’ve only ever been in long-term, monogamous relationships, and this balancing act felt disgusting. There was the idea that all these people knew I had other connections. There was also the idea that they had other connections. I’m a jealous person,” she confesses, “but I had no right to be. The conundrum was—should I invest in this person, and let it hurt me that they’re dating other people, or should I stay distant, so it affects me less?”

For Advaita, the trouble wasn’t that. “Being poly means managing jealousies and myriad relationships. That part I’ve gotten better at,” she says. “It was the lack of seriousness. Dating multiple people casually is not for me—I like to invest in the person I’m with. I like the depth of those relationships. I can have casual connections if I have at least one partner to whom I’m emotionally invested.” When she roster-dated, she found the connections shallow, because “one foot was always out the door—whether it was them or me. I hated the instability of it.”

The challenge is when exploration turns into constant comparison, Rohira believes. “If someone keeps chasing the idea of a ‘perfect fit,’ they might overlook the value of compromise, patience, and growing together.” Small imperfections can start feeling like deal-breakers, and in the search for something better, meaningful connections can slip away. “Sometimes, the ‘next best fit’ may not exist, because relationships are built with time and effort, not found ready-made. It can also become emotionally draining, both for the person juggling many conversations and for the people on the receiving end who may feel undervalued or replaceable,” she adds.

Faiz, a 36-year-old management consultant, got married late last year, after being engaged to his fiancée for a year. Before that, he’d spent most of his life roster-dating. “The funny thing is, I didn’t see it as a practice. It was just the way I dated. My job needs me to travel constantly, and I didn’t have the bandwidth to do anything but date casually.” What that meant for him was ‘loosely-defined’ relationships across the country. It was a system that worked fine until he met his wife, Amira, on one of those trips. “We met through a mutual friend when I was in Bangalore, and it felt hugely different from anything I’d ever felt.” Two weeks later, his myriad connections were severed, and he decided to make the distance work. 

Malvika felt the same way. “My mum would always say ‘When you know, you know’, but I thought it was bullshit…” But then she met someone last year whom she is now dating seriously.

Both Faiz and Malvika identify one key feeling that disappeared when they stopped roster-dating and started investing in their relationship: hollowness. “You don’t necessarily feel it all the time, but there are pops of it. There’s this sense of futility—like these half-connections are all you’ll ever get,” says Faiz. “But when you lock in on someone, that feeling disappears. It feels… full.”

He is quick to clarify it’s also formidable, of course. Malvika agrees. “Nothing is scarier than going all in with someone. If it ends, there is this terrifying abyss—and I’ve experienced that. It is so much bigger a risk when you don’t have other people waiting in the wings. And yet, I prefer that risk. It’s better than the way roster dating drains you.”

What Advaita dislikes most about it is how much it can hurt people’s feelings—your own included. “If you’re poly and capable of more than one proper, romantic relationship (going in with your eyes open), that’s different. But if you’re hoping to find monogamy at the end of the tunnel, roster-dating is straight-up painful. Just like you, they also have multiple people in the offing. It’s like The Hunger Games of love, with situationships springing up that leave you feeling tired and empty.”

In this moment, it is funny to think of the infinitely memeable ‘Sima Aunty’ from Netflix’s Indian Matchmaking. While a lot of what the matchmaker says on the show is controversial, there is one POV on new relationships she (and former roster daters) seem to believe in: the ‘one-at-a-time’ approach. “I would date several people at once, thinking I was building many things simultaneously and the right relationship would prove itself out over the others eventually,” says Varun. “But I realised I wasn’t actually building any of them. Once, when I was sitting across from a girl I had been dating (among others) for ten months, she told me her middle name. It was the same as my grandmother’s. I should’ve known that kind of thing by this point. But I’d never thrown myself into the people I was dating the way I used to when I dated someone seriously. It was the illusion of a relationship, not a real one.”

It’s important, Faiz says, to stress how it catches up with you. “I think I was reaching a breaking point  before Amira. Roster dating sounds exciting—and, in moments, it is. But it is also more work than you realise, with little payoff. You are partially investing energy—emotional, physical, sexual—in people you’re keeping in rotation. Your worldview becomes clouded. Dating becomes a contest, and the next shiny thing will turn your head. You give only a part of your time and self, because you’re wondering if there’s more out there. It teaches you the opposite of what you need to be a good partner—to commit, to take a leap, to show up, to make a person feel secure when they’re with you. It’s hard to unlearn that.”

Varun says he’s giving himself time. “I’m actually taking a few months to be single, so I can reset a little. Focus on therapy, putting my time into the other parts of my life, like work and family.” He plans to go in with a clean slate. “I want to date with intention. Maybe a date or two before I decide if I want more, but no more. It isn’t fair to either party to keep the relationship in limbo.”

Rohira believes that some people can roster-date successfully, but it needs a certain mindset and a lot of hard work. “It may suit people who have secure attachment styles, are curious, and can balance openness with honesty. It can also help those who are still learning what they want in a partner, as the process can be clarifying and even fun if approached with respect. But for people who already struggle with anxiety in relationships, or who find uncertainty very triggering, it may feel destabilising rather than freeing.” She adds that often, instead of empowerment, it can create more stress, overthinking, or a sense of being ‘not enough.’ “Here, one-on-one focused dating might feel safer and kinder to the nervous system.”

For most, the post-roster state is one of recovery. Some find that recovery in a meaningful relationship. Some find it outside of relationships, in the unscrewing of the nails that lead to serial dating for ‘options’. Whether you’re dating to find ‘the one’, or dating just for fun, roster dating can leave tangled lives and mangled feelings in its wake. Long-term casual relationships with other people in the mix can be both confusing and cruel, breeding grounds for insecurity, decision paralysis, and burnout. Essentially, dopamine at the expense of depth. But it can also be, as Malvika puts it, “a great way to figure out exactly what you don’t want.” 

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