I Thought That I Identified As 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 renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.