There’s an uncomfortable conversation that needs to happen among people who’ve chosen to build lives abroad, particularly men who’ve relocated to countries in Latin America, Southeast Asia, and other regions that have become popular expat destinations. The conversation is this: the crackdown on prostitution and sex tourism in places like Colombia isn’t an attack on foreigners or expat communities. It’s actually in the best interest of anyone who wants to be taken seriously in their adopted country.The issue has reached a tipping point in several cities. Medellín, once quietly tolerant of its reputation among a certain type of male traveler, has seen its mayor publicly declare that sex tourists aren’t welcome. Cartagena has increased enforcement. Other Colombian cities are following suit. Similar patterns are emerging in Thailand, the Philippines, and other countries that have found themselves marketed online as destinations for men seeking cheap access to women. And while some foreign residents are complaining about increased scrutiny or changing attitudes, the truth is that serious expats should be celebrating these changes, not lamenting them.The reason is straightforward: the presence of large numbers of sex tourists fundamentally poisons the well for everyone else. When a city becomes known as a destination where foreign men come primarily to pay for sex, it changes how locals perceive all foreigners. The Colombian woman you’re trying to have a genuine conversation with at a café has probably been propositioned by three men that week who assumed she was for sale. The Thai family whose daughter is in your language exchange program has probably heard stories about foreign men exploiting young women. The Filipino parents you hope will one day accept you as their son-in-law have watched their country’s reputation become synonymous with sex tourism.
This isn’t abstract social theorizing. It’s the lived reality that shapes daily interactions. When you’re a foreign man in a city with a heavy sex tourism presence, you carry that stigma whether you like it or not. Every interaction with a local woman starts from a deficit of trust. Every friendly gesture is viewed with suspicion. Every attempt to build genuine community connections is filtered through the question of whether you’re “one of those guys.” The more sex tourists a destination attracts, the harder it becomes for other foreigners to be seen as individuals rather than representatives of a degraded category.
The online discourse around these crackdowns often frames them as overreach or discrimination against foreigners. But this framing ignores the perspective of local communities who have watched their cities transform in deeply uncomfortable ways. Neighborhoods that were once residential have become informal red light districts. Young women can’t walk to work without being harassed by foreign men who assume every local woman is available for purchase. Families feel their cities are being taken from them, transformed into playgrounds for foreign men with money and no respect for local culture.
From the perspective of someone trying to build a real life in these places, the sex tourist presence is purely detrimental. If you’re learning the language, investing in local businesses, building genuine friendships, contributing to your community, participating in local culture beyond its nightlife, you share essentially nothing in common with sex tourists beyond passport color. But to many locals, you’re uncomfortably associated until proven otherwise. The guy who shows up for two weeks with explicit intentions and the person who’s been living there for three years, speaks fluent Spanish, and coaches kids’ soccer both get read as “foreign man” in that initial moment of contact.
Consider what happens when you try to date as a foreign man in a city saturated with sex tourism. Even if you’re genuinely interested in a relationship, even if you’re respectful and sincere, the woman across from you has been trained by experience to be suspicious. She’s wondering if you’re like the others. Her friends are warning her that foreign men can’t be trusted. Her family is concerned. You might be the most genuine person in the world, but you’re fighting against the reputation that hundreds or thousands of other foreign men have created. Every interaction requires you to prove you’re different, to demonstrate you’re not what the stereotype suggests.
The same dynamic applies to broader social integration. If you want to be taken seriously as a professional, as a neighbor, as a member of your community, the pervasive association between foreign men and sex tourism is an obstacle. Local business partners may be reluctant to work with you. Parents may be uncomfortable with you coaching or teaching. Neighbors may keep their distance. Community organizations may be wary of your involvement. Not because of anything you’ve personally done, but because the accumulated behavior of sex tourists has created a default assumption that takes active effort to overcome.
Some will argue that adults should be free to engage in consensual transactions and that cracking down on prostitution is moralistic overreach. That’s a separate debate about sex work policy that reasonable people can disagree on. But even if you believe prostitution should be legal and regulated, the specific phenomenon of sex tourism—wealthy foreigners traveling to poor countries specifically to purchase sex—creates unique social dynamics that go beyond the transaction itself. It’s not just about the transaction; it’s about the way concentrated foreign demand warps local communities, creates predatory industries, and fundamentally alters how foreigners are perceived.
The economics matter too. Sex tourists and serious expats aren’t in competition, but their presence affects each other. When a neighborhood becomes known for sex tourism, property values and social character change. The kinds of businesses that cater to sex tourists—certain bars, hotels, short-term rentals—aren’t the kinds of businesses that build stable, livable communities. The foreign residents who are raising families, running businesses, and investing in long-term stability often find themselves priced out or socially pushed out as areas transform to serve a transient population with different priorities.
There’s also the simple matter of self-interest for countries themselves. Colombia, Thailand, the Philippines, and other countries are trying to attract foreign investment, skilled workers, retirees with stable income, and tourists who engage with culture beyond nightlife. These are the foreigners who contribute to local economies, who create jobs, who bring skills and connections, who stay long-term and become genuinely integrated. A reputation as a sex tourism destination actively undermines efforts to attract these more valuable categories of foreigners. Every country wants to be known for its culture, natural beauty, food, innovation, or economic opportunities. No country wants to be known primarily as a place where women can be easily purchased.
The crackdowns happening now are attempts to reclaim national dignity and local quality of life. They’re often imperfect, sometimes poorly implemented, occasionally caught up in broader political agendas. But the fundamental impulse behind them—to reduce sex tourism and change how foreigners are perceived—is something serious expats should support. When Medellín’s mayor says sex tourists aren’t welcome, she’s not saying all foreigners aren’t welcome. She’s trying to distinguish between foreigners who contribute and foreigners who exploit. That distinction benefits everyone who falls into the former category.
Supporting these crackdowns doesn’t mean supporting every specific policy or enforcement action. It doesn’t mean being uncritical of how local governments handle the issue. It means recognizing that the underlying goal—reducing sex tourism and its social impacts—aligns with the interests of foreigners who want to be valued members of their communities rather than being viewed with default suspicion. It means understanding that sometimes the interests of sex tourists and the interests of serious expats are not just different but actually opposed.
The ideal outcome is obvious: destinations that welcome serious foreign residents, that make it easy for people to integrate and contribute, but that strongly discourage the kind of predatory sex tourism that degrades both the destination and the community of responsible foreigners living there. This isn’t about moralism or prudishness. It’s about basic self-interest. If you’re building a life somewhere, you want locals to perceive foreigners positively. You want women to feel comfortable talking to you. You want to be judged as an individual, not as a representative of the worst behaviors of others who happen to share your nationality or appearance.
The sex tourists themselves will complain about crackdowns, will frame themselves as victims of discrimination, will insist they’re being unfairly targeted. But their complaints are not your complaints. Their interests are not your interests. The sooner serious expat communities make this distinction clear—publicly supporting efforts to reduce sex tourism rather than defending it—the sooner local communities will be able to distinguish between foreigners who deserve welcome and foreigners who deserve scrutiny.
For anyone who imagines a future in their adopted country that extends beyond a few years, who hopes to be genuinely integrated rather than perpetually foreign, who wants their children to be accepted and their relationships to be respected, the answer is clear. Welcome the crackdowns. Support the enforcement. Make it obvious that you’re not one of them. The temporary inconvenience of increased scrutiny is a small price to pay for the long-term benefit of being part of a foreign community that’s actually valued rather than merely tolerated.