I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself were without social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.