I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.