I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. 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 challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.