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

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers 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 confidence of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. 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 knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.