I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - 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; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.