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

In 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.