I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as 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! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted 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 was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.