I Believed I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.