I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Reality
In 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, living in the America.
During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.
My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.
The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.
I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie
In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.
Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.
I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my true nature.
Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.
Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.
"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.
They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)
In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.
Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.
I needed several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.
I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.
When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.
Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.
I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared materialized.
I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.
