I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

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 conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required additional years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.