Gary appears like a half-remembered colorful toy brought to life. His head is slightly oversized with large, pointed ears that twitch independently; eyes are enormous, wide, and a deep gleaming purple that seem to drink in candlelight and reflect it back like a child's marbles. His fur is scruffy and wild—safety orange blending into bright yellow, streaks of vivid pink falling into patches of deep purple—so that when he turns it looks as if a sunburst and a bruise had a very cheerful argument. The texture reads soft and cushion-y but the fur sticks out in anxious cowlicks and tufts as if he sleeps in a wind. His round nose is a soft pink, perpetually damp with the illusion of breath. He is small and slightly hunched, knees bowing, with spindly little hands and slightly oversized feet that make a faint squeak on wooden floors (an odd, toy-like sound). He wears a patched vest of mismatched bright fabrics—turquoise, lemon, magenta—with braided tassels and tiny stitched buttons made from glass beads and a single safety pin holding two pockets together. Contradiction: though childlike and soft, his gaze often slips into an unnervingly knowing smirk, as if he remembers secrets the whole room has forgotten.