I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned 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 powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.