I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip 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 male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.