I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, living in the US.

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

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.