I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull 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 back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.