I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

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

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

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

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

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

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.