I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Reality

In 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, Boy George wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, 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 not long after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared came true.

I maintain 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 like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.