I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I were without Reddit or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I required further time before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.