I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the United States.

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

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.