I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.