Last weekend, the San Jose McEnery Convention Center was packed with cars, cars, cars for the Silicon Valley Auto Show. This weekend's going to be much different.

There's going to be about 3,000 participants at Further Confusion -- the annual "furry" gathering -- and maybe 15,000 more at the medicinal marijuana powwow HempCon, which are taking place at the same time. If that wasn't enough, there's a girls volleyball tournament going on, too. Now, that's a show I would pay to see on Netflix.

Just a hint, but conservative-minded folks might want to shield their eyes around the convention center with all this alternative lifestyling going on. I wouldn't worry too much about all these crowds mixing, though. The pot folks tend to be a generally mellow, if sometimes stinky, crowd. And the furries -- people who enjoy making and wearing animal costumes that are sometimes pretty elaborate -- can be a fun group to hang around with, too.

However, I'm a tad worried about fighting for parking with the competitive sports parents. Some of them can get downright scary.

Greg Baumann
Editor in Chief- Silicon Valley Business Journal

Furries mean a lot of things to Silicon Valley. Their annual gathering in San Jose will fill thousands of hotel rooms and they’ll spend more than $3 million eating, drinking and shopping.

But the impact of furries, those folks who dress up in fuzzy animal costumes for fun, goes waaay beyond economics. Furries represent Silicon Valley’s last, best hope at getting weird.

I use the word advisedly. In the sense that Silicon Valley should be most eager to embrace.

A flood of 4,000 people dressed in animal costumes injects a desperately needed spore of creativity into Silicon Valley’s monoculture. A psychological realignment is forced on office workers when they have to cede the sidewalk to a group of pedestrians comprised of a marmot, a fox and a faerie wearing green tights.

Steve Jobs said his acid trips expanded his consciousness. Furcon does the same for Silicon Valley.

Furcon, this year titled "Further Confusion vs. The World: 2014" runs through Jan. 20 at the McEnery Convention Center in San Jose.

In Culture January 21, 2014 by Stephen Layton

“It’s not wholesome!” a middle-aged mom shouted as she shut the trunk of her SUV. Was she talking about the stoners at HempCon or the costumed masses at FurCon? I didn’t get a chance to ask, as she hopped in the driver seat and sped off the scene of San Jose’s annual set-up for a joke.

Or maybe it’s more of an anti-joke.

Q: What happens when bunch of animal-suited fanatics, stoners and high-school volleyball girls walk into the McEnery Convention Center?

A: Everyone’s super chill about it and gets along pretty well.

At the time, Concerned Mom was loading whatever parents concerned with wholesomeness load into their trunks, I’d been asking a couple other volleyball parents what they thought of having a medical marijuana trade show and furry festival so close to their impressionable youth.

“Is that what they’re doing in there?” one asked, referring to the South Hall currently being hotboxed by HempCon. “They’re keeping it separate. We’re used to the cat convention [FurCon] by now. The girls think it’s funny.”

PHOTOS: FurCon photo gallery

The odd confluence has been going on for a couple years now. Bruce Newman wrote about it for the Mercury News in 2012, when the concerned parent contingent seemed to be significantly larger.

Key quotes from the article: “It’s just a bunch of degenerates who use medical marijuana as an excuse to do whatever they want to do,” says one parent. The same parent, regarding furries: “’Some of the other parents told me they had checked into it and found things that made it out to be basically a porn fetish convention.” He then “conceded his knowledge of furries is based on an episode of television’s ‘CSI.’”

So either the volleyball folks have gotten used to it, or “Freaky Stuff Scaring Middle Class White Folks” makes for a more exciting article than “Everyone Is Doing All Right.” Conflict makes for an easy hook. Emotions are high! People are fighting! Look! Look! So as a reporter, one might dig around a bit to find it. I asked each contingent what they thought of the others, and responses for the most part ranged from ignorance to unconcern.

The stoners, holed up in their big blue tent, hardly knew what was going on in the outside world. HempCon offered more than enough to occupy the average toker. The line for medical marijuana evaluations made a lengthy snake throughout the hall all day. In exchange for $60 and a chat with a doctor, one could enter the back half of the hall where South Bay dispensaries were selling weed and handing out free samples of all sorts of edibles: “Taste the food, not the medicine!”

Most of HempCon’s rhetoric still focuses around the useful fiction that everyone is here for the medicinal value of weed. While some definitely are, talking about weed as medicine sounds a lot better than saying that sometimes one just wants to get blazed and eat a family-sized bag of Doritos sans other family members.

Other highlights of HempCon that this reporter witnessed included a six-foot bamboo bong (“King Bong”) poached from a century-old bamboo patch by the Rose Bowl, an “herbonomically correct” weed trimming station complete with iPhone holder and “kief cling texture” and a booth holding a wide variety of polished rocks and crystals.

“Do stoners like crystals?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, they’re shiny, but they don’t emit their own light so it doesn’t hurt their eyes.” Makes sense.

As far as the furries go, they’re much less weird than they might first appear. Anyone who’s ever been to a sci-fi or comic book festival knows exactly the type: maybe a little more skittish than most, but friendly enough and passionate about very specific things. In this case, dressing up in full body fursuits and pretending to be various creatures.

According to Shawna Snopeck, a con-goer wearing a fuzzy white eared hat, the attractions of the furry fandom lies in it being “a way to express yourself other than who you are.” She traveled from New Jersey to go to the event with her “mate,” Adam Wolf.

When asked about the volleyball girls and the stoners, they hadn’t heard about any conflicts or bad vibes. I told them about Concerned Mom in the parking lot, and Philip, another guy listening in, told me, “This is wholesome for me!”

Later, Philip would get in an argument with another guy about the relative anthropomorphism of the rabbits in Watership Down and whether they used doors or not.

“There’s no doors in Watership Down.”

“Yes there are. Maybe you haven’t read it in a while.”

“Well I’ve read it many times and I don’t think there are any doors.”

“Yeah there is…well they went through a gate in the garden…”

On my way out, furries Kevin and Kat told me how heartbreaking it was to leave FurCon. In a fandom found mostly online, cons are a place to meet Internet friends in real life, at least for a weekend.

In the lobby of the convention center, I chatted with a couple more volleyball people. As we watched their daughters practice while fur-suited folks walked by, one mom told me, “The more the merrier.”

Outside on the street, a guy in big purple fuzzy feet and ears was talking to a member of a dispensary street team. “So, if I live in Oregon, can I get my medical evaluation in California?”

Vilma Loikkanen, 12, and Essi Antervon, 13, is the kind of hobby that brings joy to others than to themselves.

Fursuitissa of karvapukuilussa Vilma put ylleen clever Sepe-wolf-like furry outfit komeine head-on. The head adorned with a plush, stylized and Purple eyebrows. Vilma says his character susihybridiksi.

Essi changes fursuitissa reliable oloiseksi and cold resistant huskyksi.

Coat Costume can in fact be imaginative, it does not need to follow the correct animal's appearance. Vilma puvussakin is so thick and long tail that the correct susikin would be green with envy when they see it.

Vilma found fursuitin last summer, when he thumbed through illustrations and photos of Instagram.

- When I saw the wolf-dog fursuitin, I was just like 'oh, my god, what is it! The hill harvest of resident Vilma times.

Fursuit shook his consciousness as a force that supplies its own suit was to begin to acquire immediately. He was assisted in the mother and godmother, who sewed the suit and did the head. Vilma trimmed head of hair to your liking.

- We were looking for hair Tallinn, he says.

Vilma and Park City Essi kind of got to know each other street dance class in Tikkurila. Gradually, they found that they have the same courage to madness, and the courage to do something other than the amount of the mainstream. Then Vilma looked up pictures of fursuitista.

- They were wonderful, really wonderful, Essi enthuses.

And it was business as usual. Both girls stopped Street Dance and Essikin began to make a suit. He is, inter alia, in the oven of twiddling curable mass huskynsa teeth in the mouth.

Have passed since the end of the supplies to more than a hundred euros. The time is gone for about three months, but of course I had to go in school between.

- YouTube videos can be found on how the head is made, Essi advises.

The girls plan to do more costumes, but until then they will surprise people under the name of Zero susihybridinä and Fuji-huskyna. As recently as the Jumbo shopping center, when they dressed partial suitiin, or just the head, paws and tail. Even came in just enough hot.

No one knows who you are. And you can be someone else. "

The duo käppäily and vilkuttelu did not go unnoticed. Especially small children were excited and curious. Many adults and teens camera-shy because they have no knowledge to know how to deal with strange revelations.

- Who are you? Who are you? Come here! cried three year old James Sjöblom wide-eyed at the playground.

When Zero and Fuji approached him, the boy started a little suspicious, but interest was maintained and the baby was not even close.

Vilma and Essi's view, it is nice shows Zero and Fuji, and to make people happy.

- No one knows who you are, Essi start.

- And you can be someone else, Vilma continues.

By day, Trent Fleury is a help desk administrator at a custom metalwork company. Nights and weekends, he’s sometimes a silver fox. As a member of MNFurs, a community committed to their crush on creatures, Fleury and his comrades bring their love of animals to life with costumes made by By Cats 4 Cats in White Bear Lake.

Founder Eric “Snapcat” Stevens purchased a black-panther costume for $400 after trying on a tiger costume at a camp-out near St. Louis, Missouri in 2000. Stevens, now 38, wanted a second costume, so he bought a cheap sewing machine and made a full-body custom-made white tiger costume in 2001. “Everyone wants to own their own business, and I thought this would be great for my creative outlet,” Stevens says. “Basically, I’m living the dream right now.”

Stevens’ sewing skills began to catch on with science fiction fans who dress up like characters, particularly of the feline variety. Word of mouth ramped up demand as he constructed about five costumes in 2009, about 15 in 2012 and an estimated 48 costumes of different species last year. “I’m booked usually six months ahead,” Stevens says. “I even have to close down my website for people looking for quotes every month or so, so I don’t get overwhelmed.”

Stevens’ talent overwhelmed Deron Adamavich. Two winters ago, the White Bear Lake man contacted Stevens, who was then living in Omaha, about a costume. “I didn’t have any reference art or any pictures,” Adamavich says. “I wanted a white lion with a big, poofy mane and just told him, ‘Just make it look great.’ ”

Adamavich met Stevens in Omaha, where he was presented with the final product. “I was absolutely speechless,” Adamavich says. A respectable 6-feet 2-inches when dressed in street attire, he put on the costume while still in Omaha that Easter Sunday and walked around the downtown area dressed as a 6-foot 6-inch lion. Families, bikers and shoppers all swooned and snapped photos. “It was a totally incredible experience for me,” Adamavich says. “It was the first time that I had a costume on. I wasn’t Deron; I was my character. You are someone else. It’s just different.”

The connection established at that first meeting was so strong they began a relationship, and Stevens moved to White Bear Lake later that year; the couple married in 2013.

Stevens’ differentiation is his craftsmanship and efficiency, Fleury says. On Fleury’s silver fox, Stevens took precise measurements from the end of Fleury’s arm to the tip of his fingers. “He is able to get those measurements precise,” Fleury says. “Then, when trying it on, it was perfect. Never any issues where things are too cramped or too long.”

Costumes commence at about $2,200 and go up from there; details can include stripes or LED lights. With that price tag comes routine correspondence. “I’m in communication with every single one of my customers, from when they give me a deposit to when they get the suit, and even a year after they have it,” Stevens says. “I do ask them to be brutally honest with me as far as what they like about it and what they don’t like about it, so I can make changes.”

Each costume has between 80–120 hours invested into it, with some bodies now done by a seamstress, which allows Stevens to focus on the head, paws, feet and tail.

When people see Stevens, Adamavich or Fleury in costume, they sometimes think it’s peculiar. “Sure, some people think it’s weird, but that’s just people,” Steven says. “ ‘What are you doing?’ That is the No. 1 question we get, ‘Who are you?’”

Stevens compared it to men in purple face paint and braids at Vikings games, those that enjoy bowling or those that “put a V8 in a ’68 Mustang.”

“We just say we are doing it for fun,” Stevens concludes.

Posted: Tuesday, March 4, 2014 5:00 pm

Gino Riccardi, Staff Writer

With a flip of his tail and a wave of his gloved paw, Furry Club President Matthew Geddes called the first meeting of his anthropomorphic friends to order on Feb. 27.

Geddes, who goes by his Furry alias Hems during the meetings, presided over the meeting of artists, musicians and self-described nerds. The band of members, known as Furries, gather weekly to discuss their passion — a love of all things, well, furry.

Club members said each Furry has an original character persona — an anthropomorphic alter ego that is personally designed and interpreted through elaborate and expensive Furry suits.

Not every Furry has a suit however. The cost for a full body costume can come in at a staggering $1,000 to $3,000, so during the recent meeting club officers wore only fluffy tails, and in some cases, collars.

“Nobody is going to ruin their fur suit,” music major Alex Nobles, 20, known by his furry name Ace said.

More than anything, the group indulges in creating and displaying their own art and ideas. Rather than focus on comic book or video game art, Furries like to create new identities through costumes.

Along with being imaginative, group members are also adept designers, administrators and organizers.

“With Furries, we’re all fans of ourselves,” Geddes said. “And fans of anthropomorphic art.”

In addition to weekly meetings on campus, members attend an array of Furry events and conventions every year, Furry Club officer Justin Cha said. Furries also host fundraisers to assist animal shelters, museums and children’s hospitals, members said.

Furry Club adviser Marcella Norling, a religious studies professor, said she didn’t know much about Furries when she agreed to assist the group, but has already learned a great deal about the pastime.

“I have nerd in my DNA,” Norling said.

As a veteran of Renaissance fairs, she said she understands what it is to break off the shackles of the ordinary by participating in what some may consider an alternate reality.

When asked how she came to be the club’s adviser, Norling said she found Geddes at a booth during Club Rush and asked his name, what his club was about and who its adviser was.

They didn’t have one. So she took on the position and she said they are a fun and lively bunch.

“Just wait until the third and fourth meeting,” she said. “It’ll really be something.”

Club members hope to raise awareness of ongoing meetings throughout Southern California and expect to have their own events on campus.

The club meets on Tuesdays from 3:30 p.m. until 5 p.m. in the Social Science building.

The fur is flying in the South this weekend.

The 10th annual Furry Weekend Furry Weekend, a furry convention held in Atlanta, kicked off Thursday, and the fuzzy festivities will last through Sunday night.

Activities at this year's Furry Weekend, themed as "Furry University," include a fur-suit parade, workshops on building a collar, a talent competition and various dance classes and dance parties.

Last year, they even had a furry Harlem Shake:

Attendance costs for the whole four-day span of the convention ranges from $45-$250, or guests can buy a one-day pass for $25-$35.

The convention is the fourth largest gathering in the world for furries, meaning people who have an "interest in anthropomorphic animals and/or mythological or imaginary creatures which possess human or superhuman capabilities," according to WikiFur, a wiki managed by the furry community.

Many furries like to dress up like their animals of choice, but some express their interest through other ways, like art or performance. While some are sexually attracted to these anthropomorphic animals, this is not the case for all furries.

Description on TiVo for the 3/25 Dr. Phil show, "Animal Obsessed": "Frances' obsession with her 13 rabbits may be hurting her relationship with her daughter; Gary says he is part human and part dog and tries to live as much like a canine as possible; Lori hates that her 20-year-old daughter attends furry conventions."

See, the fandom had nothing to fear from him.