I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.