I am a Canadian who moved to Mexico and made Puerto Vallarta my home. That makes me many things: a resident, a newcomer, a guest in another culture and, quite simply, an immigrant. Yet people in my position are often much more comfortable calling themselves expats. I understand why, but I also think that discomfort is worth examining.
The Difference We Pretend Is Obvious
If a Mexican person moves to Canada, most people would call that person an immigrant. If a Canadian moves to Mexico, the word expat often appears almost automatically. The basic action is the same: someone has left the country where they were born and built a life somewhere else. The language changes depending on who is moving, where they came from and how society perceives them.
There is a technical distinction that can be useful. Expatriate traditionally refers to someone living outside their country, often temporarily or because of a particular job. Immigrant usually suggests someone who has moved with the intention of settling more permanently. In real life, however, those definitions are applied inconsistently. Someone may live in Mexico for fifteen years, own a home, run a business and still insist they are an expat. Meanwhile, a person who has only recently arrived in Canada or the United States may immediately be described as an immigrant.
That tells me the difference is not always about duration or intention. Sometimes it is about status.
Why Expat Can Feel More Comfortable
For many white people from wealthier countries, the word expat can feel polished, international and voluntary. It suggests adventure, professional mobility and the freedom to choose a new lifestyle. Immigrant, by contrast, has too often been framed through political debates about borders, labor, poverty and belonging. It can carry a stigma that it should never have carried in the first place.
I think some people choose expat because immigrant makes them feel as though they have moved down a social category. That reaction is revealing. If being called an immigrant feels embarrassing, what have we been taught to believe about immigrants? Why should the word feel appropriate for someone moving north in search of safety or opportunity, but somehow insufficiently glamorous for someone moving south in search of sunshine, culture or a better quality of life?
This does not mean everyone who uses expat is consciously prejudiced. Language is inherited. People use the words their friends, employers and communities use. Some are genuinely living abroad for a short period and plan to return home. But when a person has clearly made another country their home and still resists the word immigrant, it is fair to ask what that resistance is protecting.
Privilege Changes the Experience, Not the Category
Calling myself an immigrant does not mean pretending that my experience is identical to every other immigrant's. It is not. I came to Mexico with advantages connected to my passport, my race, my profession and my economic circumstances. I was able to choose Puerto Vallarta because I loved it, not because war, persecution or desperation forced me to leave Canada.
Those differences matter. A Canadian buying property in Mexico may be welcomed in ways that a low-income migrant, refugee or undocumented person is not. Some immigrants cross borders with savings and legal support. Others cross them carrying fear, grief and enormous uncertainty. Sharing a category does not erase those unequal realities.
But privilege does not make me less of an immigrant. If anything, acknowledging the word reminds me to move through my adopted country with humility. I rely on Mexican institutions, infrastructure, workers, professionals, traditions and communities. I benefit from a place that existed long before I arrived. Calling myself an immigrant is not an act of self-deprecation. It is an honest recognition that I am the person who came from somewhere else.
There Should Be No Shame in the Word
Immigration is one of the most human stories there is. People move for love, work, safety, family, possibility, reinvention and sometimes simply because another place feels like home. There is courage in starting again somewhere unfamiliar. There is vulnerability in learning a new language, navigating a different legal system and accepting that you will not always understand the rules immediately.
The shame does not belong to the immigrant. It belongs to the systems and attitudes that have turned immigrant into a label some people use with suspicion, while reserving expat for those they perceive as wealthier, whiter or more desirable.
I am not arguing that the word expat must disappear. It can accurately describe a temporary assignment or a life that remains centered elsewhere. I am arguing that we should be consistent and honest. If the only reason we reject immigrant is because we associate it with people we have been taught to look down on, then the problem is not the definition. The problem is the hierarchy hidden inside our language.
What I Choose to Call Myself
I live in Mexico. I am building my life and career here. This country has welcomed me, challenged me and given me a profound sense of belonging. I can be Canadian and also be an immigrant in Mexico. Those identities do not compete with each other.
The word immigrant does not diminish my accomplishments or my freedom. It connects my experience, however privileged, to the much larger human experience of leaving one home and learning how to belong to another.
So yes, people may call me an expat. I know what they mean. But I am comfortable calling myself an immigrant too. There should be no embarrassment in that word. The embarrassment should come from believing it makes one person less worthy than another.
Immigrant is not an insult. It is a description of movement, courage and belonging.
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