I Believed I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.