I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, 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 encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying 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! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed further time before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.