I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself were without social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium 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 understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed 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 rip it all off and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.