I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance 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 entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.