I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, living in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I were without Reddit or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly 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 gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

I required additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.