I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.