I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

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

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed further time before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.