I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.