I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

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

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.