I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. 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, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

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

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking 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 issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.