Twice a day, I drive past this woman on the Maple Terrace condo model-trailer-thing at Maple Avene and Wolf Street on my way to and from work, and twice a day, I wonder how the ad agency that picked that photo stays afloat. It wasn't even shot specifically for the signage; a rep--which is to say, a very offended rep--from RBMM says it's just some stock shot that's meant, and I am paraphrasing here, to represent the variety of colorful characters who once inhabited Maple Terrace. It's meant to look historical; I think it looks hysterical. It is perhaps the most unsettling visage in the history of advertising. But questionable marketing decisions seem to be de rigeur at Maple Terrace.
You used to have to be on somebody's very exclusive list if you wanted to live in the condos alongside the cultural elite of Dallas. Now, you just have to be able to pay the rent. The Maple Terrace folks think this is something to be proud of, according to the sales Web site:
"It was a place where becoming a resident was a matter of knowing someone, or better still, being someone. To open doors, you had to have the right credentials. Today, all you need is a desire to own a piece of history."
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And, apparently, a desire to live somewhere near a horse-faced martini drinker who looks like she'll probably knock on your door at 7 p.m. on a Friday, invite herself in, pour herself a glass of your favorite shiraz and talk for 45 minutes about the fabulous new table runner she ordered to match the stemware that her mother-in-law just hates. --Andrea Grimes