I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, living in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

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

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance 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 backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required further time before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

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

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.