Now normally, cops don't do it for me. I tend to lump them in with other, less glamorous uniformed officials, namely street sweepers, meter maids and mall security. But Philly's boot cops scream leather daddy-meets-Village People-meets-Carlos D. from Interpol, thereby joining the ranks of sailors, pilots, orthopedic surgeons and other inexplicably sexy men who wear the same pants to work five days a week.

And unlike Napoleon's Mamelukes' and the Royal Canucks' ceremonial garb, which is nothing but an exercise in impracticality, the PHP ensemble was designed for serious boot stomping (and, one hopes, boot knocking). Think Point Breeze police crackdowns and the physical embodiment of Frank Rizzo's zero-tolerance tough guys, and you're getting warmer. The more fascist the uniform, the more fuckable the officer.

After much (dirty) thought, I decided it's all in the footwear. A cross between equestrian stovepipes and WWII goosesteppers, the PHP's knee-high black cavalry boots truly separate the policemen from the boys just playing dress-up. Throw in the cross-strap Sam Browne belt, mirrored shades and 50 Mission cap or safety helmet with those nut-hugging baseball breeches and handsome double-breasted leather waistcoats (none of that pussy nylon patrol jacket stuff)—dude could have a famously ugly face and he'd look electric.

I started to wonder if other officers are aware of the PHP's absurd hotness and resent that their own duds aren't quite as fetching. Spotting a goateed park ranger guarding the patch of grass outside of Christ Church, I ask him if he feels gypped by his Smokey the Bear hat and wool-blend slacks in this unspoken hot costume contest.

"First of all, it's a uniform," the ranger retorts. "And I don't mind it. It's for show."

He goes on to tell me that a committee sits down once a year to consider bumping their outfits into this millennium but that they always return to the 1950s marshmallow-roasting look that says, "Hello, I'm approachable. Please ask me where to buy a Ben Franklin T-shirt or how to get to the Liberty Bell."

Conversely, the ranger suggests, the PHP's look says, "Back off, motherfucker, before I Mace your eyeballs and bash your sternum in with my billy club."

Some officers might argue that regular old police uniforms are comfortable, and if the po-po are comfortable, they're more likely to perform well on the job.

I say screw comfort. This is an aesthetic war, and an officer must look the part. Do you think the finely threaded Wehrmacht, Austrian Dragoons or Imperial Iranian Forces would've been nearly as driven to declare victory if they weren't looking forward to stripping off those over-embellished getups?

Here's hoping the rest of the PPD will ditch the black Reeboks, kill the band-campy stripe running down the officers' pant legs, add steak-size shoulder tassels to every uniform and adopt those Italian infantry berets for added bunker-style scariness. No commando sweaters. No flight attendant-looking nameplates. No windbreakers. And no shorts. Ever. Not even for bike cops.

Especially not for bike cops.

Questions? Comments? Want to read me Miranda? E-mail ashlea.halpern@citypaper.net. No phone calls.