I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my companions and myself were without Reddit or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

It took me several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.