I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.