I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. 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 problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.