I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

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

I required further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.