I Thought I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.