I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I required several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.