I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike 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 powerful draw back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.