I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. 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 person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.