I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

During 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I were without social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.