I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

During 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself 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 physician soon after. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.