I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

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 sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.