I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying 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! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

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

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.