I lived in Mexico for two years and the expat community everyone romanticizes online is actually just a bunch of people drinking too much and pretending they're not homesick

The smell of mezcal and cigarette smoke hung thick in the Playa del Carmen co-working space, mixing with the aggressive air conditioning that fought against the humid afternoon heat. Another Tuesday, another "networking event" that was really just day drinking with laptops as props.

I watched a guy from Toronto loudly explain cryptocurrency to anyone who'd listen while downing his fourth beer before 3 PM. This was the digital nomad paradise everyone raves about online. Two years in Mexico taught me something the Instagram posts don't show: most expats are just running from something, and no amount of tacos and beach sunsets can fix what you're trying to escape.

The paradise myth starts before you even arrive

You know those Facebook groups? "Expats in Tulum," "Digital Nomads Mexico City," "Living the Dream in Puerto Vallarta." They're filled with sunset photos, work-from-the-beach setups, and people claiming they've "finally found their tribe."

What they don't tell you is that finding your tribe often means finding other people who are equally lost but have convinced themselves that geographical relocation equals personal transformation.

Before I moved to Mexico, I consumed every blog post, every YouTube video about the expat life. They all painted the same picture: freedom, adventure, authentic connections with like-minded souls. Lower cost of living meant you could work less and live more. The community was supposedly supportive, creative, inspiring.

The reality? Most expat gatherings devolved into competitions about who was more "local," who spoke better Spanish, who had discovered the most "authentic" taco spot that "tourists don't know about." Meanwhile, everyone was checking their phones constantly, desperate for validation from folks back home about their brave life choices.

Happy hour that never ends

Want to know the dirty secret of expat communities? The social scene revolves almost entirely around alcohol. Every meetup, every networking event, every "let's grab coffee" somehow transforms into drinks.

I remember my first month in Guadalajara, thinking I'd find creative professionals collaborating on projects. Instead, I found people starting their days with mimosas at 11 AM because "that's what you do in Mexico." The co-working spaces marketed themselves as productivity hubs but functioned more like bars with WiFi.

There was this one woman who ran a popular expat group. She'd organize beach cleanups that ended at beach bars, language exchanges that happened at cantinas, and professional development workshops where the development was learning to pace yourself through a bottle of wine during a three-hour lunch.

The drinking wasn't celebratory. It was medicinal. People were self-medicating their homesickness, their career anxiety, their relationship problems that followed them across borders. Every conversation after the second drink inevitably turned to what they missed about home, even as they insisted they'd never go back.

The Spanish you'll never actually learn

Here's something else nobody mentions: most long-term expats speak embarrassingly little Spanish. They talk about immersion and cultural exchange, but they live in English bubbles, hire English-speaking cleaners, and only eat at restaurants with English menus.

I watched people who'd been in Mexico for five years still ordering "dos cervezas" with an accent thick enough to cut. They'd blame it on being "bad with languages" while making zero effort to improve. The truth? Learning Spanish would mean actually integrating, and integration would mean admitting they're not special for simply existing in a foreign country.

The worst part was watching them interact with locals. That painful smile-and-nod when they didn't understand something, followed by turning to another expat to complain about how "difficult" things were here. As if the country should adapt to them, not the other way around. 

Everyone's an entrepreneur (but nobody's making money)

Digital nomadism promises location independence and financial freedom. What I found was a bunch of people burning through savings while pretending their dropshipping business or life coaching practice was "about to take off."

Every coffee shop in Roma Norte or Condesa was packed with people on video calls, performing productivity. But when you got them talking after a few drinks, the stories came out. Trust funds running low. Credit card debt mounting. Desperate emails to parents for "one more loan."

There was this guy who'd been "launching" the same app for eighteen months. Another woman who called herself a consultant but hadn't had a client in six months. They'd post LinkedIn updates about "crushing it in paradise" while secretly applying to remote jobs they swore they'd never take.

I've written before about the psychology of sunk cost fallacy, and nowhere is it more evident than in expat communities. People can't admit failure because they've invested so much in the narrative of their brave escape from corporate life.

The loneliness nobody talks about

Behind all the margaritas and meetups is a crushing loneliness that nobody wants to acknowledge. Real friendships are rare when everyone's transient. People come and go constantly. Just when you connect with someone, they decide to try Lisbon or Bali next.

The relationships that do form often feel forced, built on the superficial commonality of being foreign rather than genuine connection. You hang out with people you'd never choose to spend time with back home, simply because they speak your language and understand your cultural references.

Sunday nights were the worst. That's when the FOMO from seeing friends' posts back home hit hardest. Birthdays missed. Babies born. Parents aging. Life continuing without you while you sat in your apartment that never quite felt like home, no matter how many plants you bought at the local market.

Wrapping up

Don't get me wrong. Mexico is incredible. The food, the culture, the genuine warmth of Mexican people who weren't trying to sell you something - these things were real and beautiful.

But the expat dream sold online? It's mostly marketing. Behind those infinity pool selfies are people struggling with the same problems they had back home, just with better weather and cheaper rent.

The ones who thrive abroad are those who don't need the community crutch, who genuinely integrate, who learn the language and form real connections with locals. But they're the minority. Most are just geographic refugees from their own lives, learning the hard way that you can't outrun yourself, no matter how many borders you cross.

If you're thinking about the expat life, go for it. But go with realistic expectations. Know that paradise is a place you create internally, not a destination you can fly to. And maybe skip the co-working spaces altogether. You'll save money on overpriced coffee and avoid the sad spectacle of watching dreams die in real-time, one networking event at a time.