I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching 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, in turn, encounter a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed additional years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.