I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required additional years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.