I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.