I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, a few years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

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

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me additional years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.