In 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the United States.
At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.
Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself were without online forums or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.
The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.
I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie
In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.
Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.
I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my own identity.
Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.
Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.
"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.
They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)
In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.
Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.
It took me additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.
I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.
After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.
Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.
I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.
I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.
