But what if I show up in Angora?
The furry convention is in town, and it made the front page of the San Jose Mercury News. [http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/10653117.htm] I think the article is pretty objective and nonjudgemental, but word around the campfire is that the furries don't like it much at all, nopenope. However, this tends to be true of any press about furries that isn't written in syntax of glowing, self-reinforcing floridity. In such cases, simple reporting, by simply presenting facts as observed without disclaimer, is cause enough to warrant the daggered, sour scuttlebutt of the true believers who feel maligned by "mundanes" that don't understand.
Jesus.
Hey, I'm weird. I know I'm weird. When someone intimates or openly points out that I'm odd (or, at best, droll) my general reaction is, "yeah, and?"
What amazes me is not that furries are weird, but that they reject their inherent weirdness and bristle when the social oddity of the average furry's behavior is merely pointed out. In my experience, most Comic Book fans and Star Trek geeks revel in the "shocked" and condescending tone of tepid press, and they watch documentaries like "Trekkies" with a self-knowing mix of affection, a little embarassment, and lots of "it's funny because it's true" chuckles. Furry identity, often so bruised to begin with, is wrapped up so tightly in mutual validation that they lose sight of the fact that a) it's a miniscule subculture that in logic and practice is weird as all get out - and most importantly b) there's not a goddam thing wrong with that.
Furry is like being at a 1950's gay bar where everyone's having a good time, but in the back of the mind, "Father" is still going "shaaaaaaaaaame, shaaaaaaaame," and anything other than silence or mutual aggrandaisment is translated into "shaaaaaaaaame, shaaaaaaaame." I'd hate to think what it woulda been like for the New York punk scene if they retreated into hand-on-shoulder weep circles every time the New York Times complained about the dirty kids with pins in their faces. They just did their thing, rocked the world, and changed culture from the inside out.
Stem the navelgazing, stop whining, be weird, and expect others to notice.
Jesus.
Hey, I'm weird. I know I'm weird. When someone intimates or openly points out that I'm odd (or, at best, droll) my general reaction is, "yeah, and?"
What amazes me is not that furries are weird, but that they reject their inherent weirdness and bristle when the social oddity of the average furry's behavior is merely pointed out. In my experience, most Comic Book fans and Star Trek geeks revel in the "shocked" and condescending tone of tepid press, and they watch documentaries like "Trekkies" with a self-knowing mix of affection, a little embarassment, and lots of "it's funny because it's true" chuckles. Furry identity, often so bruised to begin with, is wrapped up so tightly in mutual validation that they lose sight of the fact that a) it's a miniscule subculture that in logic and practice is weird as all get out - and most importantly b) there's not a goddam thing wrong with that.
Furry is like being at a 1950's gay bar where everyone's having a good time, but in the back of the mind, "Father" is still going "shaaaaaaaaaame, shaaaaaaaame," and anything other than silence or mutual aggrandaisment is translated into "shaaaaaaaaame, shaaaaaaaame." I'd hate to think what it woulda been like for the New York punk scene if they retreated into hand-on-shoulder weep circles every time the New York Times complained about the dirty kids with pins in their faces. They just did their thing, rocked the world, and changed culture from the inside out.
Stem the navelgazing, stop whining, be weird, and expect others to notice.
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