Rosemary Beach — Because Sand Dunes Were Just Wasting Space

Ah, Rosemary Beach. The crown jewel of “New Urbanist” utopia, where Florida’s wild coastal scrub was graciously bulldozed into submission so that we, the deserving, could sip lavender lattes within walking distance of our Mediterranean-inspired vacation rentals.

Let’s take a moment to thank the visionary minds behind this marvel — the developers, who looked at the rare, fragile dune ecosystems of the Gulf Coast and thought: You know what this needs? Brick-lined streets and a boutique that sells $300 sun hats.

The genius of Rosemary Beach is its complete mastery of contradiction: celebrating nature by erasing it. Native sea oats, longleaf pines, and wildlife corridors have all been efficiently replaced with manicured lawns and ornamental palmettos — because why let native plants hog the spotlight when you can import something that matches the HOA-approved color scheme?

And don’t get me started on their architectural standards. Nothing says “sustainability” like importing truckloads of non-native materials to craft buildings that resemble a Dutch colony got lost and washed ashore. But worry not — the Architectural Review Board will make sure no rogue peasant dares paint their shutters anything other than a mood-board-approved shade of “Seaside Moss.”

Of course, the pièce de résistance is the “walkable community” marketing pitch — a clever twist of language that suggests the roads, sidewalks, and carefully planned consumer traps somehow leave room for the actual Earth. Sure, you can walk to everything. There’s just no wild land left to walk through.

So here’s to Rosemary Beach — where nature was the opening act, and commerce is the headliner.

What are YOUR thoughts on Rosemary’s charming character?