I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward music icons, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, Boy George wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, 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.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, 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 desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.