Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.
Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.
My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.
The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.
I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase
In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.
Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.
I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my true nature.
Before long I was facing a modest display where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.
Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.
"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.
They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)
Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.
Coming out as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.
It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.
I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.
After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.
Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.
I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.
I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.
