I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

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 transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. 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 personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.