I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself were without social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

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

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed several more years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.