I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. 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 revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess 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 play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.