There is humor in the contrast on the streets of New York City between humans and non-humans.
The garbage, the rats, the pigeons, the discarded lycee peels on Broadway--- they could care less about how their internal beings are expressed on the exterior. They will reek and scamper and shit and make me slip and ruin my last pair of stockings to their hearts' content.
The humans of Manhattan, on the other hand (at least those that shower fairly regularly and pay rent on occasion), seem to be on constant alert of how the world, humans and non-humans alike, are viewing them.
This work of art for example, could easily have found a sensible pea coat at The Gap and grabbed the first pair of equestrian boots she ran across in Midtown, mimicking the care-free nature of the stray cats wandering the sidewalks of Bushwick, but no. She instead chose to defy normalcy and channel Missy Elliott's garbage bag days to illustrate her soul to the masses.
The discarded metro card that's stuck to your shiny loafer might not give a damn, but I see you girl. And you're lookin Supa Dupa Fly.