I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

During 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.