I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.