Back in 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the US.
At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.
Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.
The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.
I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie
During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.
Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.
I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my true nature.
I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.
In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.
"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.
They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)
Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, 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 gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.
I needed further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.
I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.
Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.
Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.
I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.
I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.
