I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

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

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of 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 guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; 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 one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.