I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I were without social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.