I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, Boy George wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.