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

Back in 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I feared occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.