If you ever want to start a contentious conversation at a dinner party of international people in Paris, ask them one simple question: "Do you consider yourself an expat or an immigrant?"
Watch what happens. The air will fill with a sudden, charged energy. People will have immediate, and often passionate, opinions. As an Australian who has lived outside my home country for nearly two decades, I've seen this scene play out many times, and I've wrestled with these terms myself.
This isn't just a debate about semantics. The labels we use to describe ourselves shape our identity. They tell a story about our place in the world, both to ourselves and to others. If you're not comfortable with the label you use, or the one that is used for you, it can lead to a profound sense of being misunderstood. So, let's unpack these loaded words.
Let's start with the word "expat." In my experience, especially from my 14 years in Asia, this term often carries two powerful, unspoken implications.
The first is a sense of financial privilege. In places like Singapore, many multinational corporations offer "expat packages" that include housing allowances, school fees, and flights home—benefits that far exceed what local employees receive. This creates a clear economic divide. The expat who can afford a $200 champagne brunch lives in a different reality from the local professional earning a fraction of that.
The second is a sense of separateness. The term "expat" often suggests a transient or temporary connection to the host country. These are people who "do" a country for a few years before moving on. Socially, they may remain within an insular community of other international people, their children in international schools, their lives running on a parallel track that rarely intersects with the local culture in a deep way.
On the other hand, there's the word "immigrant." It feels different. It's more neutral on the question of finances — an immigrant could arrive with considerable means or with nothing at all.
Crucially, "immigrant" implies permanence and a struggle to integrate. An immigrant is someone who needs to learn the language, navigate the bureaucracy, and build a new life from the ground up, often with a disadvantage in social capital. It speaks to a long-term commitment.
So, where do I fit? I use both words, but I almost always default to "immigrant."
During my years in Singapore, I worked on a local salary, far from the world of champagne brunches. Here in Paris, my life has been defined by the struggle to integrate: learning the language, navigating the social security system, converting my driver's license — all things I've done on my own merit. That work is a part of my story that I'm proud of.
At the same time, I hold the complexity. When I am with friends who are more on the "expat" side of the line, and they refer to me as a fellow expat, I don't always correct them. I am a white man from Australia who speaks English as his first language. In France, that affords me an immense amount of privilege and social capital compared to, say, a refugee from Syria. In their eyes, I am absolutely an expat, and they are right.
Two other labels have become useful in my own life.
The first is "foreigner." I've come to see this as a neutral term that simply describes someone who doesn't yet know the local rules of engagement. As a foreigner, you're often given a pass for social missteps, in the same way you might for a tourist. It allows me to be kind to myself when I make a cultural faux pas. I am a foreigner, and I am still learning.
The second, and more potent, label is "outsider." This word can carry the sting of exclusion—of not being able to join the conversation at a French-speaking bar. But it can also offer a strange kind of freedom. For years, I worked as a teacher in environments that were predominantly female. As an outsider — a younger man — I was often excluded from the internal politics and drama, which I deeply appreciated. It's the same here in my co-op building in Paris. As the foreigner, I'm left out of the neighborhood disputes, and I am grateful for it.
The truth is, these labels aren't fixed. They are fluid, contextual, and deeply personal. The power lies not in finding the one "correct" term, but in consciously choosing the words that feel most authentic to your own story.
So I'll ask you: How do you describe yourself? Expat, immigrant, foreigner, outsider, or something else entirely? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
If you are an expat or immigrant navigating the complexities of identity and belonging in a foreign country, I offer therapy sessions in Paris and online to support that journey.
What happens when we step outside the culture we were raised in? Between Worlds: Reflections on Culture, Identity, and Living Abroad is a five-part series exploring how life abroad reshapes our sense of self, belonging, and how we relate to others.
If you've just returned from studying abroad, how are you? No, really. How are you doing?
What happens when we step outside the culture we were raised in? Between Worlds: Reflections on Culture, Identity, and Living Abroad is a five-part series exploring how life abroad reshapes our sense of self, belonging, and how we relate to others.