I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers 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 inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When 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 couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.