I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage 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 feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.