I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Discover the Reality

In 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, living in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless 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 possibility.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.