The night is cold and dewy. Your dress is riding up and that oh-so-cute curl in your hair has hazily transformed from “so adorable” to “oh girl, you should call a cab.”

We bar-crawling women of Santa Barbara are all too familiar with the terrifyingly sloppy walk up and down State Street. It’s not all our fault. This unattractive, stomping, limping monster that we ladies turn into after a few drinks is not really something that can be avoided for one glaringly specific reason.

There is absolutely nothing comfortable about high heels past midnight.

No matter how pretty you are, attempting to navigate the streets of SB is no easy feat once you strap on those height-giving frenemies of the feet.

Why do we do it? What in Blahnik’s name compels women over the age of 20 to gear up in these five-inch spectacles every Thursday through Sunday to trudge down the blurriness that is State Street after dark?

Is it for the attention, the tight backside, or the perfect outfit? There is something about wearing high heels that conveys the image of authority and attractiveness. No one can argue that the sound of high heels walking along a hard surface doesn’t brings to mind an image of a woman in charge, someone who knows what she wants and is out to get it.

What we always seem to leave out of this perfect image however, is the point in which that woman reaches her destination, trips over her foot, and rips her tights.

Don’t tell anyone, but I do it too. I am an ankle-rolling, high-heel wearing woman. I wear them to work, I wear them to school, and heck, sometimes I wear them while I vacuum because I once heard that Jessica Simpson believes they help workout your thighs.

Here’s the catch. I will never drink and heel. I will keep all dates with my fantastic authoritative heels to a walking and drinking minimum. So when necessary, I wear shoes low to the ground. That way I can play off my stumble as some kind of inspired spur-of-the-moment jogging session.

What did Tory Burch teach us in the Spring of 2008?

Flats are hot, a lot hotter than watching someone fall over. They are classy with a capital “C,” not “K.” They are easily matched to any outfit, and give you the ability to keep standing in them long enough to keep that outfit on and in one piece.

Choosing flats doesn’t mean choosing anonymity. Each shoe can be as unique as your L’Oreal preferred hair color. There are both expensive versions and cheap versions. These shoes embrace everyone, no matter the time of day, and will help carry you home if your love-fest with Jim Beam turns into a losing fight.

Some may argue that it just takes a certain kind of woman (maybe one with an enviously low center of gravity) to pull off Steve Madden’s six-inch monstrosities. I disagree with these people, and I invite them to take a couple shots, run up a hill, and then come talk to me. I just want my challengers to know that no-you may not borrow more comfortable shoes to walk back to your car in.