I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Reality

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, 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 were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage 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 feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.