I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required additional years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; 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 was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.