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

During 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

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

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before 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 wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.