I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; 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 musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

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

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.