What sort of biological genius is it when the human body starts to shudder at the mention of marriage? It’s catching up among single women. Taylor Swift’s weapon of an engagement ring has scared the lightbulbs out of many reformed Swifties. But being single is another kind of pain when there are hardly any unpartnered friends left in the circle. So with her jobs, opinions, and strong zero tolerance to emotional labour, the new age woman is looking for a part-time boyfriend, an ovulation boyfriend, sometimes a location-specific partner. Not necessarily all at once, just with abject loyalty from each.
It’s more realistic than expecting a lover to get you the moon. He’s a dream boy enough if he insists on lifting her luggage, cleans up after himself, and leaves.
This isn’t commitment phobia at play. If anything, it’s the evolution of it—with commitment curation. Every other woman is now designing her own version of an unconventional relationship. If commitment were a skincare product, we’d all want a sample size first. After spending years (and too much money) making her room look like a Pinterest board, no man is allowed to walk in and shed emotional breadcrumbs on the rug. The new-age girlboss knows: men are like silk shirts—nice to have, but you’ll survive without one. Besides, silk stains easily and is just too hard to maintain.
Enter the hot new trend of LARs (living-apart relationships)—the grown-up version of “I love you, but I love my bed more.” You get the romance, the reliability, the Sunday cuddles—but no arguments about AC temperature or towel placement. Everyone can sleep diagonally on their queen-sized mattress. Think of it as a subscription model of love: premium access, zero clutter.
Some couples swear by it. “We’re so close,” they say, while living 14 metro stops apart and keeping the spark alive by barely ever seeing each other on weekdays.
“Take today, for example. I feel date cute and would have wanted to be taken out by a boyfriend. If I had one,” said a 29-year-old Delhiite looking like Main Hoon Na’s Sushmita Sen in a pink chiffon saree. She doesn’t feel the hankering for male companionship every day of the week. Since men are intrinsically cheap about efforts (in the words of Shobhaa De), they have every reason to love such part-time arrangements.
London-based 20-something explorer’s type is a man who leaves her alone to let her find her other boyfriend while being truly committed to her. The only problem is the lack of good men in her dating demographic, and the fact that most don’t agree to being open and committed at the same time. It really is tough out there for a simple girl with manageable desires.
If it wasn’t the Hinge conspiracy, she would have met enough like-minded men by now. Those who expect the same kind of flexibility from the ever-adjustable seat-belt of ‘monogamy’. The app is hiding them behind the “standouts” feature—and one of them per week. Worse, to match with compatible suitors, the app asks users to send them a virtual rose. And you know, nothing respectable has ever come out of imaginary flowers. It’s called a Hinge rose jail, and according to a New York Magazine article, some women have found a hack to break out of it. Delete, superboost, reject—trick Hinge into thinking you’re dating royalty and watch the matches roll in. One user so fooled the app that she was “swimming in men”. After all, what do women want other than options? More options.
Also read: Is modern dating about instant relief or delayed gratification?
Metro dating 2025
If dating was ever a “do all, be all” for women, that era is long gone. A 20-something watching her friends drop like wickets on the marriage pitch may set up a dating profile—but not always to chase the same trophy. Take a 25-year-old in Mumbai, twisting herself into rope-yoga pretzels on weekends: she wants “a long-distance relationship, somewhere we travel a lot and aren’t always together”. And she’s never dated anyone, ever.
The only guy she ever liked? A DU DJ she never wanted to date—he loved power plays and would eventually want a woman he could walk all over (spoiler, he did—and is getting married to her). If he says it’s pouring heavily, his fiancée doesn’t even peek out the window to fact-check him. A dream setup—for him.
The independent yogi says if she ever falls in love, it would be with a radical feminist ally. Subpar men need not try. The older women who gave up on that quest long ago call her naive. She calls them exhausted.
Meanwhile, a lesbian woman was navigating her own battlefield: the minefield of conventional co-dependence. All she wanted was to be a fun third wheel to an established couple. But after a few dates, the masculine partner got jealous—seeing the feminine one getting too cosy didn’t sit right. Drama ensued, the couple split, and suddenly the masculine partner wanted to date the “other woman” individually. Her response? “I met you as a couple, I broke up with you as a couple. If I ever talk to you again, it’s as a couple. Bye-bye.” She just wanted a situationship with benefits, not a group project. Welcome to metro dating 2025: pick your package, set your boundaries, and pray no one gets jealous.
For all the sirens being blown about the young generation running away from love—opting for fleeting things instead—let me break it to you that we don’t live in that kind of romantic culture. In fact, we never have. Alain de Botton, writer and modern philosopher—the calming voice behind School of Life videos—says that there’s an incredible terror of love among real people. “Count your blessings sometimes that you haven’t found the love you say you like because your lovelessness is saving you from a terror of vulnerability that you’re not on top of yet,” he said in an interview with Davina McCall.
So can you blame young women for seeking something emotionally functional, a reliable rhythm, not some grand romance? Love is now an add-on, not the operating system. Someone who shows up, does their bit, and leaves without demanding a five-year epic saga. There’s no point taking such a hit while juggling roti, kapda, makaan and the world’s trickiest hair-washing schedule.
This article is part of a series of columns on modern dating in India—the good, the bad and the cuddly.
Views are personal. The author tweets @ratanpriya4.
(Edited by Prasanna Bachchhav)