I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.