I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself were without online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, 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.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.