I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the US.

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

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.