I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.