I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Reality

During 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself were without online forums or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue 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 wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.