I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition 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 an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume 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 made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.