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

Back in 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely 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. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.