You’re an expatriate. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafés
The passage presents a deliberately exaggerated portrait of the expatriate: detached from home, absorbed in foreign fashions, drinking heavily and substituting conversation and leisure for productive work. The phrase about losing touch with the soil suggests separation from one’s cultural roots, while the references to cafés, sex and European standards caricature the habits associated with American expatriates in 1920s Paris.
In The Sun Also Rises, Bill Gorton delivers the remarks humorously to Jake Barnes, so they are better read as satire than as a straightforward judgement on expatriate life. The joke draws on familiar criticisms of the so-called Lost Generation while also describing aspects of the characters’ own behaviour. Beneath the humour is a question about identity: prolonged distance from home can alter a person’s habits and loyalties without necessarily providing a stable replacement. The passage therefore connects expatriation with cultural displacement, self-conscious sophistication and uncertainty about how to live meaningfully.