Back in 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.
At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.
Born in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.
The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.
I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie
Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.
Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.
I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my personal self.
I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.
Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.
"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.
They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)
Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.
Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.
It took me additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.
I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.
Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.
Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.
I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared came true.
I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.
