I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, living in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.