I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. 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 same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.