I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

I required several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I still have 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 following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.