"Good morning, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!"

The quote above is from the 1998 movie The Truman Show. It is the signature catchphrase of the main character, Truman Burbank, played by Jim Carrey.

The film follows Carrey's character, who lives in the idyllic town of Seahaven, unaware that it is actually a giant dome-shaped set and that everyone around him is an actor. Hidden cameras record his every move for a global television audience controlled by a visionary but manipulative producer, Christof (Ed Harris).

More about the movie later. But first.

On this date in 1981, ground was broken for a little Gulf Coast experiment called Seaside—80 acres in the Florida panhandle that would quietly help reboot the lost art of town-making in the United States.

Designed as a compact, walkable community with a strong public realm, Seaside became a living laboratory for what we now call New Urbanism.

If anyone outside architecture recognizes Seaside, they most likely know it as Seahaven, the picture-perfect setting of The Truman Show.

On screen, the picket fences, front porches, and postcard streets become the backdrop for a manufactured reality where one man's life is scripted for ratings. It is a town that looks ideal but is controlled down to the last cue.

That tension is our lesson as residential designers.

Seaside's actual charter was to build a place where walking is easier than driving, where public spaces matter, and where architecture reinforces community rather than isolation.

The Truman Show reminds us how quickly those same tools—codes, pattern books, curated facades—can be used to flatten difference and manage behavior instead of supporting genuine life.

As demand for housing pushes production toward larger tracts, single-developer control, and ever-tighter pro formas, it is tempting to treat neighborhoods as products and residents as buyers of a lifestyle package.

Yet Seaside's legacy, maybe all Traditional Neighborhood Designs (TNDs), and their market success, tell a different story: there is real value in places that are legible but not rigid, coherent but not uniform, planned yet still capable of surprise and change.

As an organization dedicated to building a better residential design profession, we sit in a critical position between vision and product.

Every time we draw a front porch that actually invites conversation, line up a window to a real view, or fight for a small civic space instead of one more lot, we are choosing how our work behaves.

This reminds me of a townhouse development I was asked to take over in North Palm Beach, Florida.

The village's planning council had initially denied the 21-unit design. While I agreed the style was somewhat uninspired, I pointed out that the main issue was that the site's only circulation path ran around the perimeter.

I advocated for reducing the density to 18 units and creating a central "Via" through the center of the property.

We achieved this by removing the middle unit from each of the three 7-unit buildings. This redesign resulted in six 3-unit buildings, with each pair connected at the center by a bridge, highlighting the "Via."

Anyway, the developer wasn't happy with the new design, which appeared to reduce the project's value by 15%. But was that really the case?

The planning board and, ultimately, the village council unanimously approved the new project, and the remaining units increased in value.

I've since designed models for a half-dozen or more other communities for the same developer.

As designers, we can advocate for patterns that:​

• Support walkability and everyday encounters, not just drive-by curb appeal.​
• Allow variety in plans and elevations so streets feel lived-in, not staged.​
• Give residents room to adapt, personalize, and even "break" the script over time.

Development is evolving toward large, single-developer subdivisions, and master-planned communities have replaced the "buy a lot, pick your own builder" model in many markets, concentrating power and narrowing choice.

When given the opportunity, advocate for the buyers feeling more like "clients than victims" in these types of communities.

Your leverage is to demonstrate that small injections of choice and design intelligence are not luxuries; they are a competitive advantage and a hedge against a future where demand is no longer so forgiving.

If you're looking for inspiration, the Congress for the New Urbanism (CNU) has you covered. They've compiled a searchable database of over 250 projects that showcase the range and diversity of New Urbanism.

From large-scale regional visions to single-building historic renovations, the CNU offers a wealth of resources for land use planning, development, policy, and advocacy.

On today's groundbreaking anniversary, it is worth remembering that our drawings don't just sell houses; they script daily routines and long-term characters.

Happy anniversary, Seaside! Here's to using our craft to build places where unscripted lives can flourish.