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

In 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

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

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

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

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning 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 was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.