I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.