I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.