I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected 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! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.