I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I were without social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

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

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, 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 was absolutely sure that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.