I Thought That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, residing in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.