The term LBH is everywhere, from Reddit threads to late-night bar chats. It’s a shorthand for the idea that these teachers are stuck in China because they’re stuck in life. But let’s not forget, many of them were *chosen* for their jobs. Schools in China often prioritize native speakers, not because they’re desperate, but because they’re desperate for authenticity. Yet, somehow, this gets twisted into a narrative where these teachers are just “the last resort.” It’s like being told you’re the backup plan for a party you didn’t even want to attend.
There’s also the cultural clash thing. In some parts of China, English teachers are seen as quirky, eccentric, or even a bit “over the top.” Think of the stereotype of the expat who’s obsessed with K-pop or insists on ordering bubble tea every day. But here’s the kicker: these quirks aren’t inherently bad—they’re just different. The problem is, the LBH label doesn’t just ignore the cultural richness of these teachers; it reduces them to punchlines. It’s like calling a chef a “chicken” because they once burned a soufflé.
Then there’s the job market angle. Let’s be honest, the global job market is brutal. Many English teachers in China are there because they’re navigating a world where “overqualified” is a curse and “underpaid” is the norm. But instead of acknowledging that, some expats act like these teachers are just “slumming it.” It’s a bit like assuming a chef who works at a diner is only there because they’re bad at cooking. The truth is, sometimes people take jobs that aren’t perfect just to survive.
And let’s not ignore the expat community’s own biases. There’s a weird hierarchy in the expat world—those who work in finance or tech are often seen as “legit,” while teachers are the ones who “had to settle.” It’s like a high school cafeteria, but with more visas and fewer recesses. The irony? Many of these “legit” expats are in China for the same reasons as the LBH crowd: better pay, cheaper living, or a chance to escape the grind. But instead of solidarity, there’s a lot of finger-pointing.
What’s even more frustrating is how the LBH label ignores the diversity within the teaching community. Some teachers are there for the adventure, others for the paycheck, and a few are there because they’re chasing a dream. But the label doesn’t care about nuance—it just wants to lump everyone into a category that’s as outdated as a flip phone. It’s like saying all chefs are the same because they all wear aprons.
Here’s where I step in with my two cents: the LBH label is a lazy way to dismiss a complex group of people. Sure, there are teachers who fit the stereotype, but there are also those who are brilliant, passionate, and making a real impact. The problem isn’t the teachers themselves; it’s the narrative that reduces them to a punchline. If we want to understand why LBH exists, we need to look at the expat culture that perpetuates it, not just the teachers who are stuck in it.
So, what’s the takeaway? Maybe it’s time to stop laughing at the LBH joke and start asking why it’s still funny. Are we really so sure that teaching English in China is a career failure? Or are we just projecting our own fears onto a group of people who, like the rest of us, are just trying to make the best of a complicated situation? The next time someone rolls their eyes at an LBH, maybe they should ask themselves: who’s the real loser here?
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