I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths 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 lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.