I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I were without online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.