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

Back in 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. 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 sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.