I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely 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! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem 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 presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.