I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

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

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed several more years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.