I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.