I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

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

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward 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 realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint 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 something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.