I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, 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 sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.