I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.