In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.
Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for answers.
Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.
The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.
I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase
Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.
Since nobody experimented with identity 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 possibly he could provide clarity.
I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.
Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.
In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes 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 momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.
They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)
At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.
Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.
I needed further time before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.
I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.
Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.
Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.
I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about came true.
I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.
A passionate writer and traveler sharing insights on personal growth and lifestyle from a UK perspective.
