I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, 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 since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.