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

During 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the America.

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

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.