English teachers in China? Oh, the stories we could tell. Picture this: a group of expats huddled around a table, sipping lukewarm bubble tea, debating whether the latest arrival is a “LBH” or just someone who finally found their calling. It’s like the ultimate game of “Guess Who” but with a side of cultural confusion and a sprinkle of judgment. The term LBH—Losers Back Home—has become this weirdly accepted label, like a badge of honor for people who somehow ended up here. But why? Why do these teachers, who are often the backbone of English education in China, get the short end of the stick? It’s like being told you’re the “cool kid” at a party where everyone’s wearing clown shoes.
There’s this weird assumption that if you’re teaching English in China, you must have failed at something back home. Like, “Oh, you’re here? Must’ve been fired from your job, right?” But let’s be real—how many of us have had that “I’m just here for the adventure” moment, only to realize our resume might not scream “career goals”? The truth is, some of these teachers are rockstars in their fields, just looking for a change of scenery. But in the expat world, it’s easier to label them as “LBHs” than to actually get to know them. It’s like the internet’s version of a high school cafeteria—everyone’s got an opinion, but no one’s really listening.
Then there’s the irony of it all. Imagine being told you’re a “loser” for teaching kids how to say “I love you” in English. It’s like being accused of stealing a cookie when you’re just trying to bake a cake. The teachers here often have to navigate a maze of cultural stereotypes, from being mistaken for missionaries to being asked to “fix” the Chinese education system. Meanwhile, the LBH label sticks like gum on a shoe. It’s not that they’re bad at their jobs—many are brilliant, passionate, and way more resourceful than the average expat. But let’s face it: the term has a way of sticking, like a bad meme that refuses to die.
We've all heard of the infamous "LBH" label, but what exactly is it? It's a term that's become synonymous with expat life in certain parts of Asia. But have you ever wondered why this particular brand has taken on such an ironic significance?
1. It starts as a joke. When you're new to the area and people find out where you teach, they'll often make light of it by calling you "LBH". This is usually done with a chuckle or a raised eyebrow, implying that teaching English in this region is some kind of quixotic adventure. You might get jokes like: "Teaching LBH? Good luck!" or "How much do you make?" (the last one being an obvious reference to the infamous 50k yuan monthly salary). It's funny because it highlights just how unusual a career path it is for someone with English teaching qualifications.
2. But what about teachers who take it seriously?. When some expats see their colleagues getting teased over this, they start questioning if there are people out there genuinely passionate about the work and willing to put in the long hours required. Do these individuals truly believe that they're "helping" English speakers become fluent or do they just love hearing themselves talk for 20 years straight?
3. The culture clash. As an expat, you may have noticed that locals tend not take things too seriously here - even when it comes to matters of education and employment. It's almost like the LBH label has become a sort of unofficial badge of honor or acceptance among teachers who choose this career path for reasons other than pure altruism.
4. What about those 'LBH' jokes? Are they harmless, or is there something more sinister to them? Can we assume that these expats are being mocked because their job makes everyone laugh - but also highlights how far removed it feels from the mainstream teaching experience in other parts of Asia?
5. When do you start calling someone an "LBH"?. For some, this label has become a sort-of honorary title or something to brag about during cocktail gatherings back home.
6. A 'common enemy' for expats. What is it about being labeled as an LBH that makes us all so united in our collective frustration? Is there more to the "LBH" experience than just having a bad teaching job?
7. What do you think, teachers? Do these labels and jokes make your jobs less enjoyable or challenging - or perhaps even inspire some kind of strange camaraderie among those who have survived it all with humor?
8. A bridge to understanding. Perhaps the LBH label has also played a role in bridging cultural divides by providing expats with common ground, allowing them to poke fun at themselves and their jobs.
9. When do you call someone an "LBH"?, another question from our readers: How often should one joke about their job, before they are considered to be making a mockery of the profession? In other words how far can we push it before that 'teaching is not all fun and games' message gets lost in the humor?
10. The dark side. It's hard for some people to find teaching jobs overseas due to visa issues, corruption or simply being an untapped niche market - but what if those expat teachers were "LBH" jokes themselves? Are there stories out there where someone is struggling and failing in their role because of circumstances beyond the teacher’s control?
11. Why do you still come back?, another question that keeps us wondering: What motivates these individuals to keep showing up day after day, despite all the challenges they face, armed with nothing but flashcards and a sense of humor? Is it truly love for teaching or just an inability to quit?
12. LBH in your DNA. For some teachers, being labeled "LBH" has become such a significant part of their identity that it's hard not to laugh when faced with these labels - they might even proudly wear the badge like a title and be ready to prove themselves once again if called upon. Does this sound familiar to any of you?
13. What do we mean by 'LBH'?, one more question: What is it about teaching English in certain regions that makes people assume that someone's qualifications are not from the mainstream English-speaking countries, and hence the birthplace of these infamous labels.
Note: Some points might be contradictory or overlap. This list aims to provide different angles on this fascinating topic while providing readers with a chance to share their thoughts as well
But here’s the thing: the LBH label is a bit of a double-edged sword. On one hand, it’s a way for expats to bond over shared struggles—like the time your lesson plan got lost in translation or when you accidentally taught “I am a banana” instead of “I am a student.” On the other hand, it’s a reminder of how easy it is to judge someone based on a single label. These teachers aren’t “losers”; they’re people who chose a path that’s as unpredictable as it is rewarding. Sure, some might have taken a detour, but detours can lead to some of the best adventures.
The reality is, teaching English in China isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s a job that requires patience, creativity, and a willingness to laugh at yourself when your Mandarin fails you. Yet, the LBH stereotype ignores the grit and resilience it takes to thrive in a country where “hello” can mean “I’m confused” and “thank you” is often followed by a side-eye. These teachers are often the first to step in when a student’s having a meltdown or when a lesson plan goes off the rails. They’re not losers—they’re heroes in a world where the rules are written in a language they’re still learning.
Let’s not forget, the LBH label is also a reflection of expat culture itself. It’s the same kind of judgment that once labeled backpackers as “hippies” or remote workers as “digital nomads.” We all have our quirks, and sometimes those quirks get exaggerated into stereotypes. But here’s the kicker: the teachers who get called LBH are often the ones who end up making the biggest impact. They’re the ones who teach kids to dream bigger, who help bridge gaps between cultures, and who turn “I don’t know” into “I can try.”
In the end, the LBH label is less about the teachers and more about the people who sling the term. It’s a way to cope with the chaos of expat life, but it’s also a missed opportunity to celebrate the diversity of experiences that come with teaching in China. So next time you hear someone call a teacher an LBH, maybe ask them what they’ve learned from the experience. Because while the label might stick, the stories behind it? Those are the real winners.
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