I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

Born 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 YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony 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 understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment 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 revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required further time before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.