I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me several more years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. 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 issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.