The Convention
There is an electric energy in the air. People joke and laugh as they meet up with old friends, snap group photos, and explore the area. Over a hundred artists transform two vast rooms into a temporary marketplace where visitors can purchase wares ranging from books and games to prints and apparel. The days are filled with art shows, dance competitions, parades, lectures, and meetups; the nights host a nonstop party at such a scale that an entire floor of the adjoining Marriott is reserved just for room parties that spill over from the official venues.
Despite all that, the thing that draws the attention of those members of the public who just happen to stumble upon the scene are the costumes. Over 650 people are dressed head to toe in flamboyantly-colored fursuits, each one custom-made and utterly unique.
This is FurCon. It's the twentieth anniversary of a furry convention that, this year, drew more than 3800 furries off the internet and into the San Jose Convention Center.
It's my first furry convention.
I don't consider myself a furry. Most people define a furry as a person who's a fan of media featuring anthropomorphic animals, and I don't particularly care whether the protagonist of the book I'm reading has a tail or not. It's stories about transformation that captivate me, and I'm here looking for other people who share that interest.
At first glance, I'm slightly disappointed by the appearance of the crowd. It's a shallow thing to say, but first impressions are first impressions. Here is a group of people who clearly spend a lot of time browsing the internet. Most are male, and many (but certainly not all) could use a haircut, a beard trim, and some new clothes. A closer look reveals a rich tapestry of stylistic and cultural influences. LGBTQ pride attire is common, and there's certainly a splash of anime, punk, and raver style mixed in for good measure.
Everyone else seems overjoyed to be here, but I'm anxious. I'm worried I'll end up in the background of one of the thousands of photos that make their way onto the internet, and for good reason. Being seen at a furry convention could impact my career or lead to awkward conversations with my friends and family that I'd rather avoid. I head to the "dealer's den" and buy a mask from one of the artists who's set up shop. It's one of those japanese-style breathing masks that covers the nose and mouth, only this one features a colorful illustration of a snow leopard's grinning muzzle. Putting it on, I feel a twinge of excitement from the part of me that loves transformation. The thrill comes less from wearing an animal mask and more from joining the crowd, becoming a member of "the others" I've been observing. I feel immediately more at ease. It's apparent that fursuiting and masquerades share much of the same appeal.
I see no hint of my anxiety shared by the random unaffiliated people who happen upon the scene. As a group, the furries are incredibly disarming. They're happy, accepting, and they wear their weirdness like a badge of honor. At the same time, they seem to be aware that they are representing their community, and they're on their best behavior. The average bystander either recognizes what's happening and is excited, or they have no idea and they're curious.
A hoard of children on a field trip give high fives to a giant bipedal moose as they pass each other in the crosswalk. Many people, especially kids, ask to have their photos taken with the fursuiters.
There's no transformation panel on the schedule. I scour the marketplace for TF and all I find are a few references to werewolves and a single true-blue transformation book printed by a furry publishing company (In Flux), which I buy. I'm excited to see an artist whose work I recognize, Everruler, but he hasn't brought any transformation prints to sell. The general lack of TF representation disappoints me, but there's still a transformation meetup on the schedule later in the evening. It will be my best chance to meet other people from the community.
I kill the time by attending a few panels and soaking in the atmosphere. It's clear that furries come in all ages. A girl no older than 11 stands next to her mother and marvels at the scene through the perforated eyes of her smiling fursuit wolf head. An old married couple wearing animal headdresses hold hands as they slowly make their way. There is no shortage of heartwarming moments to see or hilarious quotes to overhear. Wonderful art is everywhere, and the fursuiters are quite the spectacle. They often adopt animated physicalities to communicate and sell their characters. The effect of seeing it on a mass scale is quite surreal and impressive.
For dinner, I decide to treat myself with a visit to a nearby steakhouse. I sit at the bar next to an older man wearing bright red fox ears. A group of slightly sloshed businessmen see another customer don a fuzzy fursuit head after paying and begin a chant, "Furries! Furries! Furries!"
About 20 people show up to the transformation meetup. One of them is a reader of mine, which is super neat. It's too many people for a focused conversation, but I'm excited to finally hear people talking about websites and artists and subjects that I recognize. Well, mostly. Every time I meet up with other transformation fans, I'm always surprised at how we can all spend so much time in the same community, and yet somehow we never seem to know the same set of artists. I didn't have much time to chat the first night, but I met up with another transformation fan, Mr. Nibs, the next day and had a pleasant conversation with him and his wife. It's easier to make a connection with a smaller group.
Those of us who are fascinated by transformation learn we're odd at an early age. Hiding our interest quickly becomes second nature, but it's still a burden. It's not having anyone to talk to about one of your main hobbies. It's that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you see a movie with your friends and a character ends up transforming on-screen. It's the anxiety of wondering when to broach the subject with your significant other. SentR once called their interest in TF "a jagged thing" that doesn't fit easily into their life, that they fear could hurt them if they tried to make it fit.
Meeting up with other transformation fans offers a brief respite. For those few, fleeting moments, the jagged thing fits. There's value in going out of your way to connect with someone else in the community even if you only do it once or twice in your entire life.
This is one major reason why the furries' seem so damn happy to be here. It isn't just reuniting with old friends and meeting artists. These conventions provide a sense of community for a group of people who have an interest that makes them feel isolated and strange. It's the profound joy of, for once, being themselves. Frankly, I'm a little jealous of their lively, vibrant, well-established community.
The convention was a lot of fun, and even though it wasn't exactly the path into the transformation community I was looking for, I would certainly go again. For those reading who have even the slightest inkling to attend one, I highly recommend it. At the very least there's plenty of spectacle to keep you entertained. And, if you're lucky, you might just find that despite all the weirdness of the event, you feel a bit less weird when you get home.