I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

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

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed additional years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.