Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the America.
Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.
Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.
The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.
I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase
In that decade, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had once given up.
Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.
I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my own identity.
I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.
Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.
"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.
They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)
In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.
Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.
I required several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.
I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.
When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.
Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.
I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared occurred.
I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.
