I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.