I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my companions and myself were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.