I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

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

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.