I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I were without online forums or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round 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; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed several more years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.