I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I were without social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.