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

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. 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, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, 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 wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.