I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself were without Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed further time before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.