I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.