Source: Tails and Tornadoes 2026 Website. Artist unknown.
I’m writing this from Tulsa International Airport, looking out over the hazy skyline of a city that feels packed with Midwest hospitality and quiet authenticity. It’s about seven in the morning, the kind of early hour when the air still holds a little coolness before the day really starts. I just left the Renaissance Tulsa Hotel & Convention Center, the place that hosted Tails & Tornadoes 2026. My bags are checked, my flight is still a little while away, and my head is full of the last few days. If you’re a babyfur or diaperfur, this is a convention you really don’t want to sleep on.
From the moment I walked into the hotel, the energy felt different from a lot of the bigger cons I’ve been to this year. The halls weren’t packed wall-to-wall with people rushing from one panel to the next. Instead there was space to breathe. TTFC 2026 had babyfur panels that stretched for hours at a time. Those rooms became soft little pockets where people could drop their shoulders, settle into littlespace, and just exist for a while. Outside the Tulsa heat sat heavy and smouldering, but inside the air conditioning hummed steady and the lights stayed low. You could sit on the floor with a stuffie or simply listen while someone talked about padding and play without anyone rushing the conversation. It felt like the con itself was giving permission to slow down.
Walking the convention space I kept noticing the same easy details. Plenty of attendees wore ABU PeekABU hats without any hesitation. Overalls were common too, the kind that look soft and a little oversized, the kind that make you feel smaller in a good way. People smiled at each other in the elevators and in the vendor hall. Last year the convention drew more than fifteen hundred people, and it is clearly still growing. More than once I heard someone call TTFC a Midwest version of BabyFurCon. The comparison felt right. There was the same warm, accepting atmosphere, the same sense that you could be open about being a little or a diaperfur without constant side-eye. Of course there was no full hotel lockdown. Hosting something like this in a rather conservative state means some boundaries stay in place, and most people seemed to understand that. Important parts like the comfort, the community, the chance to be yourself were still very much present.
The AB/DL panels and room parties stood out for how relaxed they felt. Most parties I’ve attended or hosted tend to carry a certain pressure to keep the energy high, to keep moving, to make sure everyone is “on.” Here the opposite was true. I spent long stretches lounging in a diaper in nicely cooled rooms and suites, the kind of quiet spaces where the conversation could wander wherever it wanted. We talked about everyday things and about little things. We shared snacks, drinks and stories. Connections formed without anyone needing them to turn into something more than friendship. That was a welcome change.
One detail that kept catching my eye was how many trans attendees were present and completely at ease. They moved through the con owning the gender they know they are, smiling, laughing, joining panels and parties without looking over their shoulders. In the middle of Oklahoma that kind of open comfort felt almost surprising. TTFC turned into a small LGBTQ+ oasis for a few days, a place where people who often have to measure every step could simply take up space and enjoy themselves. Watching that happen made the whole event feel even more important.
I had the honor of being selected to DJ at TTFC 2026. The booths and dance spaces put me right in the middle of a group of talented DJs, several of whom just so happen to be AB/DLs themselves. A good number of them are already my friends, so the nights felt less like work and more like hanging out with people who get it. We played sets, we traded tracks, we checked in on each other between songs. There was a strong sense of belonging in those rooms. There was this unspoken understanding that everyone there could show up as themselves and still be welcomed. Because the con wasn’t the size of the giant multi-hotel events, I also got real time with people I usually only catch for a quick hug in a crowded hallway. Those longer conversations mattered. They reminded me why I keep coming back to these spaces in the first place.
I’ve been to quite a few conventions this year. Some of them were fun whirlwinds of chaos — constant motion, long lines, packed parties, the kind of schedule that leaves you tired in the best way. TTFC 2026 was different. Time slowed down. For less than a week it felt like a longer, more wholesome excursion. Mornings started gentle. Afternoons had room for both panels and quiet corners. Evenings offered parties that didn’t demand you stay until sunrise if you weren’t feeling it. The whole rhythm gave people space to actually rest while still being part of the community. That balance is rare, and it made this my favorite con experience so far.
If you’re looking for a place to meet other AB/DLs in a more central location, I highly recommend putting Tails & Tornadoes on your list. The babyfur panels, the room parties, the open acceptance, and the chance to connect without the usual rush all add up to something special. It isn’t the biggest convention on the calendar, but it might be one of the most comfortable. I’m already thinking about next year as I sit here watching planes taxi across the tarmac.
Safe travels, everyone. Hope to see you in Tulsa next year.