I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I were without Reddit or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics 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 wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required further time before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.