According to the Oxford Dictionary, an immigrant is “a person who comes to live permanently in a foreign country.” Meanwhile, an expat is defined as “a person who lives outside their native country.” The distinction lies not in geography, but in implication.
Both words describe someone living in a country other than their own, but one carries the weight of permanence. An immigrant is expected to stay, integrate, and often, seek citizenship. An expat, by contrast, is more transient, perhaps on assignment or personal exploration, without a long-term commitment. But the real difference isn’t in the dictionary. It’s in how these terms are used in society.
The divergence between “immigrant” and “expat” is not just linguistic. It’s political, economic, and cultural. Immigrants are often perceived as people seeking a better life, moving due to necessity—fleeing poverty, political unrest, or simply looking for work. Expats, on the other hand, are framed as professionals, moving abroad for opportunity, career growth, or lifestyle change.
This distinction reinforces stereotypes: an immigrant is someone who needs; an expat is someone who chooses. And with choice comes privilege. Expats are typically associated with higher-income individuals, often from Western countries. Their movement is romanticized—an adventure, a project, a career move. For immigrants, the narrative is rarely so kind.
The word “immigrant” carries baggage, often burdened with negative narratives in media and public discourse. Immigrants are depicted as outsiders, struggling to assimilate, or worse, as a threat to jobs, culture, or security. The conversation around immigrants is colored by fear and misunderstanding, with narratives built around exclusion rather than opportunity.
Expats, meanwhile, are often shielded from these harsh judgments. Even when expats face challenges, they are rarely seen as a threat to their host countries. They are welcomed into social networks, often insulated by economic privilege, their presence seen as a boost to local economies.
It’s not uncommon to hear people argue that the only real difference between an expat and an immigrant is money. Expats are often seen as immigrants with financial resources, and as a result, more power. This distinction blurs the line between the two. After all, both groups are foreigners living in a country not their own. The real divide comes from societal perception and class.
An expat from Europe or the U.S. living in a country like Thailand, for example, is rarely labeled an immigrant. Yet, someone from a developing country moving to Europe or the U.S. is almost never referred to as an expat, regardless of their occupation or education level. This reveals a fundamental inequality in how we view human mobility.
The words we choose matter. "Immigrant" and "expat" describe the same action—moving to a new country—but they tell very different stories. One group is often framed as aspirational, the other as desperate. And those labels influence how these people are treated in society. It’s time to reconsider the language we use and recognize that, at the core, all expats are immigrants. It’s the power dynamics and societal narratives that drive the divide.
Understanding these nuances isn’t just about language—it’s about reshaping the narrative to be more inclusive and equitable. Because in a world of increasing mobility, those lines are becoming ever more blurred.