I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my companions and myself were without social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment 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! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.