I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself were without Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.