I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.