I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me additional years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.