I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, residing in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed further time before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.