I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me further time before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. 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 familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I feared came true.

I maintain 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 experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.