Hundreds of people gathered at the Metropole Hotel in Cork for AnthroIrish, Ireland's furry convention, which sold out for the first time in its four-year history.
The first furry to arrive was a six-foot pale blue dragon with articulated wings. He held the door for an elderly woman with a wheelie case, his tail almost toppling a luggage trolley. She thanked him normally, while a child stared and an older man looked away. There was no laughter or surprise.
Attendees from Ireland and Europe spent the weekend dressed as animal characters they designed. The event featured a swashbuckling seafaring theme, perfectly matching anchors and ships' wheels left on the ceiling from a corporate event the week before.
The night before the convention, a handful of twenty-somethings gathered in the foyer with branded tote bags and lanyards, searching for people they only knew online. A staff member said, "Nobody told us much. But let's face it, you can spot them a mile off."
Hotel transformed by costumes
The next day, a giant yellow bird crossed the foyer and a raccoon checked his tail in a lift mirror. Staff calmly carried coffee and room service. Downstairs, a wedding party checked in with garment bags and flower boxes. For two days, brides and dragons queued side by side in the breakfast room for scrambled eggs and rashers.
The opening ceremony started with a chorus of barks, meows and howls. Mike, head of the fursuit lounge, welcomed the "crewmates" and reminded them they "don't even have thumbs" before explaining fire evacuation procedures.
Ink, the convention's outgoing director, told the crowd, "Welcome home."
Fire Mixer, 30, travelled from Scotland. He discovered the fandom at 18 and spent 1,200 euro turning his fursona into a costume.
Grape, 19, from Cork, found the community online during Covid lockdowns. Bailey, 22, from Wicklow, attended her first convention. She chose a design she fell in love with online.
Guest of honour Rascal Griffiths, 30, has been in the fandom since 2009. A fan asked him to sign the inside of a fursuit head.
Costume creation and craft
Behind the animal heads is a complicated craft. Every costume starts with a drawing and is refined over months. Partial suits cost hundreds of euro in materials.
Full suits start at 1,200 euro, while the most elaborate pass 10,000 euro, roughly the cost of a small car. Several attendees paid in instalments. They noted it is no different from any other expensive hobby.
Eliott builds fursuits professionally in Dublin, specialising in "evolutionary adaptations, rare or endangered species". His latest suit has detachable ears held by magnets.
He designed the ears to meet Ryanair's 10kg luggage restrictions. He said, "People spend that [amount of money] on a holiday. This lasts longer."
Loopy, from Waterford, crochets her entire suit by hand, taking almost a year alongside a full-time job. Many attendees introduce themselves by character names and ask not to be identified.
Bailey has not told her friends yet, but her family is supportive. Her father told her the suit is "really cool".
Community and technology
Fire Mixer said he keeps his convention life separate from his professional one. A mother's defence passed on to a reporter was that she would rather see her child spend money on a fursuit than hard drugs.
A surprising number of attendees work in technology. An architect from the midlands said, "You'll find if you talk to a lot of people that the main field of work is generally IT. It's a very internet-based subculture."
Attendees were quick to address misconceptions. A man in a full fursuit said, "It's really important for you to know that this is not a sexual thing. This is only about creativity." He acknowledged a section of the fandom includes sexuality, but insisted it was not what the convention was about.
Addressing misconceptions
Bailey agreed, saying, "This isn't sexual, absolutely not. This is pure enjoyment of cosplaying your character and the self-expression, art and community behind it."
Fire Mixer added, "There's no sexual thing."
Eliott said, "There is a decent chunk of furries who participate in the adult side of the fandom. But that isn't what being a furry is all about."
Grape added, "For some people it is, and that's okay. But not for me."
Griffiths drew a boundary between furries and therians or otherkin. "Generally the people who feel like they have more of a spiritual connection to animals, akin to a more religious and soul feeling, that is a completely different sub-community, called therian and otherkin," he said.
A fursuit head weighs as much as a bowling ball. The view is reduced to small mesh eyeholes, voices are muffled, and wearers quickly become hot.
Confidence in costume
However, the suit hides expressions and removes the pressure of being watched. BB, 22, said he is reserved usually but becomes noticeably more confident in his suit.
Other attendees noted it is easier to start conversations when people cannot see faces. The fursuit lounge acts as a cooling station with fans, ice packs and cold drinks. Volunteers check on attendees while abandoned heads sit on racks.
Fire Mixer can manage an hour or two in his suit before needing a break. Azakir has worn his yellow dragon suit for eight years and joked before a dance competition that he still cannot get out of it quickly.
Ink opens every convention with a disclaimer: "It's a bit weird, but we know we're weird, and that's the beauty of it." Ink said a first-time visitor would be surprised by how often they hear "where's my head?" as animal heads are constantly misplaced on chairs.
Charity and closing
Ink is stepping down as director and handing the role to a friend. Ink described the experience as, "An absolute joy, a wonder, a privilege, a nightmare and a delight at the same time." Ink added, "I started going grey the first year. And I'm holding back the greys in my fourth."
AnthroIrish partnered with Sofia Housing, a Cork charity for homelessness. A representative asked for donations in a room filled with foxes and birds, and the collection bucket was far heavier than expected.
Downstairs, the wedding continued. A waiter carried a three-tier cake through the foyer past a yellow bird.
By early evening, costumes came off. A fox head sat on a chair while its owner used a phone. One attendee strapped a dragon head into the passenger seat of a car before waving at another attendee still walking in full fursuit.
Attendees packed fursuits away carefully before the weekend ended. By Monday morning, the dragons, foxes and birds had gone, and the people wearing them returned to their everyday lives.
