I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my personal self.

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

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, 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 left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.