I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the America 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 experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.