I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. 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, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have online forums or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. 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. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.