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

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video 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 wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.