I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.