I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment 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! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.