I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.