I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.