That-just-ain’t-right-ism
I have precious little tolerance for the intolerant. When people get all judgmental and sexist, racist, heterosexist, cisgenderist, vanillaist, or any one of a number of other kinds of “ist”s I haven’t made up yet, my hackles tend to raise. But then I realize that, to a point, I’m talking about the man in the mirror. Because I’m not immune to being judgmental myself, and not just against the judgmental.
You see, I’m really kind of a dick about furries.
I’ve recently learned, through the mystery-annihilating magic of multiple social networking sites, that a few of my friends and acquaintances are attending a furry convention. I’ll say it again. They are going to a furry convention.
I don’t know why, but furries are that thing for me: the thing that strikes my “that just ain’t right” reflex in that oh-so-special way, to the point that if I learn that you like to dress up as an anthropomorphic animal to get your kicks, I’m going to start thinking less of you. It’s something I’m trying to grow past, but for now it’s the truth.
I understand that not all people within furry culture consider it a sex thing. I guess for some it might just be an extension of cosplay/dressing up/costuming. Or something. But it seems like many argue that it’s not just a sex thing. Which means, correct me if I’m wrong, that it partly is.
This prejudice against furries is not sex positive, open-minded, or even rational of me. In fact, the rational side of me is happy that they’re having their fun. But at the same time, another side of me is thinking “Ew. That’s…it’s…that just ain’t right.” I definitely don’t have a particular distaste for any other costuming hobbies. I also wouldn’t have this reaction to most sexual fetishes, even though I share–as far as I know– none of them. Do you like to pee on each other? Glad you’re enjoying yourselves. You want to coat yourself in liquid latex? Have at it. Beat each other with lit sparklers while climaxing? Can I watch? Oddly enough, I think pony play is kind of cute. Weirder still, if you’re a zoophile all I really care about is that you’re not abusing your animal sex partners, and that you honor consent inasmuch as you actually can. Hell, if I eat a hamburger and you let a bull fuck you, who’s doing more harm?
But furries? That’s, inexplicably, my line. In my book, it’s just slightly less appalling than scat. Why? I don’t know!
Well, I kind of know. For some reason, animals that are too anthropomorphic have always creeped me out. Beatrix Potter and Winnie the Pooh characters are fine, but anything approaching Hanna Barbera or team mascot level distortion unsettles the hell out of me, actually gives me goosebumps. I have no idea why that is, but it’s been true for as long as I can remember. So furries work that particular hypersensitive nerve for me, and sexualizing something that’s already creeptastic makes it even more troubling. This is why most of us don’t like to picture people we find repulsive having sex.
However, I suspect I’m also buying into the social stigma against furries, the “let’s all make fun of the plush-fuckers because it’s easy” crap that we all seem to get away with and don’t even bother to examine. And even now, my brain is serving up all these excuses, like “But it’s icky! And you know some of them are into some really weird shit.” (because of my terrible bias I have no idea how disturbing these links actually are, but I think very, so take care) But so what? That’s their fantasy world. I don’t want to be a part of it, but do I have to go out of my way to judge it?
Shame on me and my that-just-ain’t-right-ism.
…But still, ew.
