I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference 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 donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely 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! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.