I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required further time before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.