I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I were without online forums or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.