I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning 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 unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.