I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, 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 tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.