I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood 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 previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing 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, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.