MARCHING PAWS

IPittsburgh Post-Gazette n a drafty beige conference room at the David L. Lawrence Convention Center, a few Anthrocon attendees fiddle with an unusual device — a network of tubes connected to a large fan.

The machine helps them dry up any sweat that might accumulate in their heavy, hairy outfits.

One person combs the fur on his purple rodent suit, and a few cartoonish costume heads dry on a tree-like rack nearby.

These people are “furries” — fans of anthropomorphic costumes and characters — and the room is the convention’s “headless zone,” where guests can cool off after hours of wearing fullbody animal suits. Only some of the 8,000 convention-goers are “fursuiters,” and “suiting” is an involved practice with its own demands and rules.

So what’s it really like being inside a fursuit?

“Ever watch a nature documentary and see an animal give birth? And the calf comes out all wet and hot?” said Shaun Cunningham, gesturing to his tiger costume. “That’s kind of how it feels to take this thing off.”

Some furries install fans inside their heads, while others opt for cooling vests usually worn by construction workers.

Because the costumes hinder sensory perception, fursuiters and those who meet them have to follow a particular etiquette. On escalators, fursuiters grip the handrails on both sides. They wave bombastically to get each others’ attention.

“If you come up behind them and hug them, they’re going to freak out, because they had no idea you were there,” said Waylon “Ashe” Darosh, an Anthrocon official who teaches a session on interacting with fursuiters.

“It’s like driving in traffic,” said Mr. Cunningham. “You’ve got rules of the road and everyone manages to get along.”

What makes fursuit conduct even