I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

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 be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

It took me several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge 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 all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.