I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

In 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.