I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me further time before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.