I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the United States.

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

Born in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.