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

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, 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 - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium 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 momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.