I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual 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 mother of four, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without online forums or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

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

I needed several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.