Picture this: a 30-year-old guy from Leeds with a degree in Drama and zero work experience, suddenly living in Chengdu, teaching “present perfect tense” to teenagers who already know more English than he does after six months in a language school. He’s got a studio apartment with a view of a noodle shop, a salary that would make his mom cry happy tears, and a cat named Mr. Fluffington who judges him daily. And yet, in the eyes of some expat circles, he’s still “LBH” because he didn’t land a job at Goldman Sachs? Come on—does the fact that he’s now teaching kids how to write essays about “My Dream Job” not count as *some* kind of professional win? Maybe the real loser is the system that values a LinkedIn profile over a real-life adventure.
Now, let’s be fair—there *are* English teachers in China who didn’t exactly make the best life choices back home. Some genuinely left broken careers behind, some were kicked out of their own countries for reasons involving questionable tax returns or a disturbing obsession with pigeon breeding (okay, maybe that’s just one guy). But to paint *all* of us with that brush is like saying all people who hike in the Himalayas are either broke or running from the law. It’s reductive, lazy, and frankly, a little boring. The truth? Most of us are here because we *chose* it. Not because we failed, but because we dared to ask: *What if I could live in a country where my favorite snack is always in stock, my commute involves a bamboo forest, and my job involves giving students high-fives for getting “I have been to Beijing” right?* That’s not failure—that’s *courage*.
And yet, the LBH label keeps popping up, like a ghost at a party everyone forgot to invite. It lingers in the comments under Instagram reels of teachers riding e-bikes through rain-drenched streets, in the snide remarks about “only foreigners” teaching English, and even in the way some local employers treat teachers like temporary interns rather than professionals. But here’s a wild thought: *What if the real "loser" isn’t the teacher, but the idea that a job teaching English in China isn’t a valid career move?* Because guess what—some of the most innovative, creative, and globally aware people on the planet are doing exactly that. They’re writing TED Talks in their spare time, launching YouTube channels, or even starting small businesses that blend culture, language, and pure hustle.
Now, if you’re still skeptical and wondering, “But wait—does this even *feel* like a real job?” then let’s talk about a little-known fact that’ll blow your mind: **China’s English teaching industry employs more than 400,000 foreign teachers annually—more than any other country in the world.** That’s not a side hustle. That’s a *national infrastructure*. And yes, some of those teachers might be here chasing second chances, but many are building real lives—teaching, traveling, learning Mandarin, and even getting married to locals who think “She’s a little weird, but she taught my daughter to say ‘I love you’ in English with the right tone.” That’s not failure. That’s *cultural diplomacy* in action.
If you're thinking about joining this vibrant, chaotic, beautiful world of teaching in China, and you’re still wondering if it’s worth it—let me point you to a golden nugget: **[Best Job China Teaching Jobs in China](https://www.bestjobchina.com)**. This isn’t just another job board. It’s a treasure chest of verified positions, honest reviews from real teachers, and tips on everything from visa prep to how to survive a winter in Harbin without turning into a popsicle. Whether you’re a first-time teacher or a veteran with three countries under your belt, this site helps you skip the guesswork and land somewhere that *feels* like home—before you even unpack your suitcase.
So, are English teachers in China losers? Only if you believe that someone who chooses to live in a country where dumplings are a religion and karaoke is a national pastime is somehow less than successful. We’re not running from our pasts—we’re building new ones. We’re the ones who laughed through homesickness, aced the HSK exam just to prove a point, and still show up to class with a smile even when the air conditioning is broken and the student’s phone has just crashed mid-sentence. We’re not losers. We’re *explorers*. We’re the ones who traded spreadsheets for sunrises over the Yangtze, and that, my friend, is not a fallback plan—it’s a revolution.
And in the end, maybe the real question isn’t “Why are English teachers in China called LBH?” but rather: *Why do we insist on measuring success in the same old boxes when the world is screaming for something wilder, messier, and more human?* So here’s to us—the teachers, the dreamers, the people with mismatched socks and a deep love for the word “actually.” We may be labeled “losers back home,” but honestly? We’re just too busy falling in love with China to care.
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Beijing, Chengdu, Toronto, English,
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