I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. 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. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, 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 same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.