During 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the America.
Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.
Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.
Annie Lennox wore male clothing, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.
I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie
Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.
Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.
I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.
I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.
Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.
"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.
They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)
At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.
Coming out as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.
I required several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.
I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.
After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.
Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.
I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.
I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.
