I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, 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 significantly scarier prospect.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.