I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

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

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward music icons, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, 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 "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed further time before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.