I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.