I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. 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 voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.