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

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, 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, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.