I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I required several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.