I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.