I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. 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. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed several more years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.