I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I were without social platforms or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further 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 slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge 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 presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.