I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

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

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.