I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.