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

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change 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 physician shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.