I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, 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 tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced 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 in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.