I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself were without social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.