I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I were without social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.