Anthrocon has become a fun and fuzzy Pittsburgh tradition
Once upon a time, Pittsburghers used to think furries were weird, and that the annual convention, called Anthrocon, at the David L. Lawrence Convention Center was a showcase for weirdness on an epic scale. After all, there were thousands of adults cavorting in animal costumes clogging the streets of Downtown.
All this didn’t fit Pittsburgh’s image as a shots-beers-and-pierogi kind of town.
But a funny thing happened after a few years. Pittsburgh got used to their lovable eccentrics. The more we encountered them pawing pizza at restaurants, shuffling around street corners or entertaining children in the Cultural District, the more they grew on us. We learned to relax and pose for selfies with them as they stood in line to patronize their favorite haunts. We read about the charity work they’ve been involved in, and the businesses they help keep afloat by returning year after year.
By becoming part of the annual calendar, they’ve taught us something about tolerance, whether we knew we were learning or not.
And it doesn’t hurt that Anthrocon is an infusion of millions to hotels and restaurants that Pittsburgh looks forward to each year. What’s not to like about such generous cartoon critters?
Of course there are always going to be people for whom anyone dressing up in a hot, fuzzy suit — and not for pay, but for fun — is going to be off-putting. And that’s fine. But for many others, they’re an annual reminder to not take ourselves too seriously.
In general, the furries seem to be a subculture that cultivates gentleness and charm. As far as we know, nobody’s beefing over who’s the greatest furry at the convention. The power of the imagination, as manifested in their costumes, is valued much more highly than anything else.
Sure, it’s still a little weird, at least to outsiders. But one could argue that gathering at Heinz Field on a freezing Sunday afternoon to wave Terrible Towels is just as strange. Weird is relative when the furries are in town.