I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation 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 undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed several more years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.