I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities 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 could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about 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 as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.