I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying 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 rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

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

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.