I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.