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

In 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I required additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.