I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure 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 flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

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

I needed further time before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.