I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.