I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

In 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.