I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium 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 understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.