Seaside — New Urbanism’s Poster Child, and Nature’s Cautionary Tale

Seaside. The one that started it all. The town so charming it could give a sugar cube a toothache. The developers didn’t just bulldoze the landscape here — they bulldozed the entire idea of Florida and rebuilt it from the ground up as an architect’s fever dream and a lifestyle influencer’s wet napkin.

When you look at old photos of this patch of 30A, you see — or, rather, used to see — scraggly coastal scrub, waving grasses, and humble wildlife. But the developers saw something even better: potential. And by potential, I mean perfectly symmetrical picket fences, pastel-painted cottages, and streets so “walkable” you can barely trip without landing on a yoga mat.

And let’s be honest: nature was never going to fit into this master plan. Wild dunes and coastal wetlands don’t photograph as well as curated streetscapes and sunset-lit porch swings, now do they? Seaside didn’t “develop” the land — it performed an exorcism on it, replacing every last trace of wilderness with a theme park for urban design students.

The real pièce de résistance, though? The town square. A revolutionary innovation, where human interaction is encouraged (provided you’ve paid for your vacation rental and purchased a $9 kombucha). Nature’s own gathering spaces — you know, forests, dunes, beaches — were apparently lacking sufficient retail options.

And let’s not forget the architectural controls, so tight they’d make a military dress code look casual. Want to paint your house something other than “Weathered Seaside White” or “Bluebird Porch Sky?” Adorable! But no. This is a place where even spontaneity has to submit blueprints for approval.

So here’s to Seaside — a masterclass in the art of replacing ecological heritage with architectural nostalgia. Where every sunset comes pre-approved and every blade of grass has to justify its existence.