I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.