25 years ago, husband-and-wife architects Andr?s Duany and Elizabeth Plater-Zyberk stood on a deserted white stretch of Floridian beach.
They'd been asked to create a new beach resort named Seaside that would recapture everything that was good about smalltown America. Today people come from all over the world to share in the good life at Seaside, a naive precursor to the enormous man-made holiday resorts springing up today in places such as Dubai and Tunisia.
Seaside is so famous that it has its own shop, The Seaside Store, which sells T-shirts, pencils and towels all emblazoned with the blue-and-white Seaside logo. Standing on the smooth, narrow beach, two things strike me.
Firstly, everything conforms to the Seaside colour scheme: the sky, the Gulf of Mexico and the beach parasols that line it are bright blue, while the sand, the lofty clapboard houses and the shops are all white.
Secondly, after 10 days in Florida - a state where the only way to cross a street is to hire a car and drive - it is a relief to be in a town where you can walk around. But it's not just the lack of cars, it's the absence of billboards and skyscraper hotels that makes Seaside remarkable.
When Duany and Plater-Zyberk were brought here in 1980 their brief was specific. Landowner Robert Davis had been reading Leon Krier, the urban theorist who inspired Prince Charles to build Poundbury in Dorset.
Krier believed that the ideal size for a small town was based on the distance a person might comfortably walk around in a day: 80 acres. The architects were commissioned to build a resort and 'ideal holiday community'. All rather Orwellian, Seaside was to be a physical realisation of the American Dream. Davis didn't want Poundbury's pastiche, though.
The architects were given a free hand, which is why, as well as leafy lanes and traditional picket-fence housing, tin roofs and wraparound verandahs, Seaside also has imaginative homes that rework the Victorian gingerbread woodwork of Florida's Gilded Age into something more chic and minimalist. Seaside is not without its critics, who feel as if Big Brother has imposed something repressively squeaky clean and uniform.
It's not surprising that, in 1998, Seaside was chosen as the location for the sinister soap opera utopia in the film The Truman Show, starring Jim Carrey. But time has been kind to Davis's idealised community and individuality has crept in.
Like a true resident, I stroll round the town's square, buy coffee at Sundog Books, ice cream at Frost Bites, browse the open-air market and take a leisurely lunch at Shades.
Eating on the verandah, I realise that for the first time in days I'm watching real people walking, talking and shopping. That may sound unremarkable but at Seaside, Duany and Plater-Zyberk (now called DPZ) haven't just recreated the appearance of a bygone age, but reintroduced the idea that human beings are residents and not just consumers.
Yes, this social experimentation can be eerie, but when you look at Panama City Beach, on the other side of the bridge, it seems like a fine idea.
Panama City is a 10-mile strip of garish restaurants, towering hotels and noisy entertainment. It has no centre, no pavements, no real shops and very few real people. Seaside managed to coin a new concept in modern architecture called 'Urban Renewal' and DPZ have become major players in modern design. A mighty coffee table book about their work comes out this summer and the company has received the Thomas Jefferson memorial medal of architecture. Since 1980, DPZ has designed more than 140 similar communities.
Ironically for an ideal community, most of Seaside's property is now rented out to holiday-makers keen to buy a slice of nostalgia one week at a time. The American Dream has become a holiday destination.
Read more: The American dream holiday? | Mail Online