I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I were without Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.