I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed several more years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.