The seven deadly sins get plenty of airtime in Mexico — not from the pulpit, but in everyday conversation. Spanish has several words for most of them, and knowing which one to use (and which to avoid) will make your small talk in Mexico City or Oaxaca a lot smoother.
Pride is the trickiest. Orgullo is the everyday word and cuts both ways: someone can be orgulloso of their work or their kids, or simply aloof. Soberbia leans toward arrogance — though confusingly, soberbio can also mean superb, as in un gol soberbio, a brilliant goal. There's also amor propio, literally self-love, for the kind of pride that gets bruised.
Lust is simple: lujuria, with lujurioso, libertino and lascivo as variants. The language isn't big on symmetry here — mujeriego (womanizer) has no real feminine counterpart, and viejo rabo verde, an old lecher, sounds milder than it should.
For gluttony, gula is the textbook word and glotón the textbook glutton, but in Mexico you'll hear tragón far more often — usually affectionately, as when a friend reaches for one more carnitas taco. Admitting you ate an extra dessert por gula works; por antojo, on a whim, sounds much nicer.
Anger has layers. Ira is full wrath (iracundo the adjective), cólera is fury, and coraje — which primarily means courage — doubles as rage in Mexico: hizo un coraje means someone flew into a rage, and a habitual hothead is corajudo. Enojo is gentler, mere annoyance, and enojón is closer to grouchy.
Envidia, envy, is a word with real social weight in a country with stark inequality, and no seas envidioso — don't be envious — is a stock retort to criticism. Greed splits between codicia (covetousness, as in the commandment about your neighbour's house) and avaricia, which can also mean stinginess. A miser is an avaro; two very Mexican words for a tightwad are tacaño and codo — literally elbow, evoking someone grasping at money.
Finally, sloth: pereza is the classic word, but Mexicans reach for flojera and flojo more often. ¡Qué flojera! — what a drag — covers any activity requiring more energy than you fancy. Its cruder cousin güeva will earn you dirty looks, and perezoso also happens to be the sloth, the animal.
For travellers, this is the kind of vocabulary that transforms a trip. It turns restaurant banter, taxi conversations and market haggling from transactional exchanges into genuine connection, and it explains half the jokes you'll overhear. Mexican Spanish is rich in these expressive, playful words — and locals warm quickly to visitors who use them well. Just save güeva for close friends, if at all.
