I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

In 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, living in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

I needed several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. 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 familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.