I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.