I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed further time before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; 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 could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional 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 feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.