I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. 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 prospect.

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure 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 wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, 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 am able to.