I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, 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 desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.