I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, 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, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required further time before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video 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 feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition 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 not long after. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

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