I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, residing in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, Boy George wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

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

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.