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

In 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I were without social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance 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 momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge 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 in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.