I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs 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 recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run 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.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition 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 medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.