How the Furry Community Became a Safe Space for Youth
For teens who feel isolated or ostracized, the furry community is a place where they can come out and be themselves.
Furries gather before the fursuit parade at Anthrocon 2017. Photo by Kerry Neville
Donald Trump may want to ban transgender people from serving in the military, but as my teenage daughter, a sometimes furry named "Roo," reminds me, "LGBTQ people are always welcome with open arms in the furry fandom because we’re all just beautiful animals!"
One late night, when I thought the day was done, my daughter walked into my bedroom and announced that she was a furry—specifically a kangaroo-dragon, her own hybrid dream animal. Of course, her birth certificate says she’s a girl, but she corrected me on this identifying fact.
I shook my head. "No," I said. "No way. That’s a sex thing."
She rolled her eyes. "That’s only for people in mursuits who want to yiff. Not everyone is in it for sex, Mom," she scolded. "Mursuits are fursuits specifically designed for sex. You know? Openings for access?"
I didn’t know and wasn’t sure I wanted to know how she knew all this terminology. The unschooled public (me) often misidentifies furries as a subculture of sexual fetishists, to the chagrin of the many, many furries who aren’t. A sizable contingent are just fans of all things furry and cute, including fursuits that embody their fursonas (though only 10 to 15 percent of furries own a fursuit), art, stories, and other media that feature anthropomorphic animal characters. Put more simply, according to my daughter: "Furries are just people who love animals that look a little like people."