I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

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 conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

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

I required further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.