I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I required several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.