I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated 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 given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.