The funny thing is, most English teachers in China aren’t exactly running from their old lives. Sure, some might have had a rough go of it back home, but others are just chasing adventure, a paycheck, or a chance to see the world. Yet the LBH label assumes they’re all some kind of cosmic joke, like they’re auditioning for a role in a low-budget film where the only thing worse than the plot is the acting. It’s the equivalent of calling a tourist a “vagabond” because they’re not from the area—except here, the “vagabond” is also teaching kids to conjugate verbs.
Cultural misunderstandings only amplify the LBH myth. In China, teaching English is often seen as a “last resort” job, like a backup plan for people who couldn’t hack it in their home countries. But let’s be real: teaching English in China is a full-time hustle. You’re juggling lesson plans, cultural quirks, and the occasional existential crisis. It’s not just about “winging it” or “getting by.” For every expat who’s stuck in a dusty classroom, there’s another who’s mastering Mandarin, volunteering, or building a life that’s way more interesting than the stereotype suggests.
Then there’s the whole “expat bubble” thing. Many LBH jokes come from people who’ve never actually tried teaching. They’re the ones who think “English teacher” is just a fancy way of saying “tourist with a degree.” But if you’ve ever tried to explain the difference between “past tense” and “past participle” to a group of 12-year-olds, you’ll know it’s not a walk in the park. The real teachers are out there, grinding, adapting, and occasionally wondering why they’re still here. It’s like being a superhero who’s only ever been seen in a costume party.
The irony? Some of the most successful expats in China started as LBHs. Take Sarah, a former barista from Toronto who now runs a thriving language school in Foshan. “I got here on a visa that said ‘English Teacher,’ but I had no idea how much I’d learn,” she laughs. “I didn’t come here to be a loser—I came here to be a legend.” Her story isn’t unique. The Foshan Jobs Teaching Jobs in China listings are filled with opportunities for people who want to turn their lives around, not just survive. It’s a place where “LBH” can become “LBC” (Legend Before the Crown).
But let’s not forget the locals. While expats might joke about LBHs, Chinese colleagues often see them as the underdogs of the education system. “They’re the ones who take the toughest classes, the ones who stay late to help kids,” says Li Wei, a school principal in Guangzhou. “Sure, some might be a bit… quirky, but they’re also the ones who bring new ideas. You don’t get a degree in English just to be a joke.” It’s a reminder that stereotypes are rarely the full story, and that sometimes, the people you think are “losers” are actually the ones working the hardest.
The truth is, LBH is a label that’s easier to throw around than to unpack. It’s the kind of term that lets people avoid asking hard questions about why someone would leave their home country, or what they’re really trying to achieve. But here’s the kicker: many English teachers in China aren’t just surviving—they’re thriving. They’re building communities, mastering languages, and proving that “loser” isn’t a career path. It’s a bit like being the underdog in a sports movie, except the trophy is a lifetime of stories and a slightly better grasp of Chinese idioms.
So next time you hear someone call an English teacher an LBH, maybe ask them why they’re so sure. Chances are, the real story is way more interesting than the label. After all, who’s really the loser here? The person who’s trying to make a difference, or the one who’s too quick to judge? As Sarah puts it, “I didn’t come here to be a punchline—I came here to be a legend. And honestly? I think I’ve got a few more chapters left.”
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