I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I were without social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.