For years the mantra for Farish Street has been, "It will be Jackson's Beale Street!" or "It will be Jackson's Bourbon Street!"

I've been right there, saying the same thing for a long time.

And I think it may be time to admit we were wrong, and see how we can move on.

First of all—and maybe it's just that I'm getting older—but it occurs to me that when I go to New Orleans and Memphis, I don't actually spend time on Bourbon and Beale streets anymore.

I did when I was more of a tourist, but I know those cities better now. These days my happiest moments in New Orleans are on Magazine, Royal, Poydras or in the Bywater.

In Memphis, we had a fabulous time a few months back in the Cooper-Young neighborhood, walking a few miles worth of local booths: food, artists, craft beers and craftspeople. During our Thanksgiving trip, we went bar hopping and ball-game-watching with family and friends in Overton Square, checking out the new spots and mourning the loss of our old-school karaoke joint.

If there's a pattern here, it's one I've been harping on since we started the JFP—even if I ignored that pattern myself when I was championing the "received" Farish vision.

The rule is this: Design your neighborhood for locals ... and you'll entice the tourists as well.

One way I know that is by looking at Best of Jackson voting this year. One of the top finalists in the category of "Best Tourist Attraction" in Jackson was ... Fondren. Fondren is also one of the top reasons people give as their Best Reason to Live in Jackson.

I know. Fondren this, Fondren that.

But we weren't talking about Fondren 10 years ago (at least, not as much), and we are now. In fact, we've been talking about Fondren for less time than we've been talking about Farish.

But which one has flourished?

Fondren, one could argue, is Jackson's Cooper-Young or our Faubourg Marigny—and it didn't really set out to be either of those. It kind of (with affection, attention and leadership) set out to just be Fondren, a neighborhood that doesn't need chains to be awesome.

Second—and, in this case, I'm just on the outside looking in so maybe someone can prove me wrong—it really doesn't look like the "Beale Street vision" for Farish Street is going to happen. Some of this is probably nobody's fault—it was a huge project with bigger infrastructure issues than we first realized. Go Zone funding has come and gone; the window for some "big project" development after Hurricane Katrina was closing a few years ago, and then it was slammed shut by the Great Recession.

David Watkins took over what looked to be an anemic effort by Performa, and did what he could. Some of those efforts are documented in Tyler Cleveland's story on page 14 and in his past coverage.

I'm sure Watkins has done some things right and some wrong. I'm sure the city has done some things right and some wrong. I'm sure outside forces have conspired against us, the banks look at nothing but the bottom line, and we haven't had a handy Act of God in the last little while to right Farish's course.

Got it. So, what's plan B?

I'll repeat this part: I thought "Jackson's Beale" was a good idea. But considering where we are today, I think we need to hit "reset" and decide what Farish Street should really stand for.

Fondren has added two high-concept bars in the past six months, with the promise of a "Pig and Pint" somewhere in our near future and the announcement that Duling Hall is now 100 percent run by one of Jackson's most prolific music promoters.

Some of us oldsters have visited these places and come away wondering: "Who are all these kids? Is it even legal for them to drink?!"

So where is this demand coming from? Was the great "Mall of Fondren" planned and built and executed in order to entice all these young professionals with money to burn to come in and play shuffleboard and taste prohibition-style drinks?

Of course not. These are individual entrepreneurs noticing a trend, doing some research, crafting a business plan, and tossing their startup capital in a new bank account with fresh checks and barely dry architectural renderings.

The problem, of course, is that Farish Street has already gone down a certain path, and pulling it back is problematic. Somehow, we need to get stakeholders around the table—contractors to the back of the room, please—and get a new vision for Farish.

Instead of running it like a mall development, maybe it needs to be run more like a neighborhood; instead of telling tenants already on the street what the rent will be once all the improvement is done, maybe somebody focused on Farish needs to be beating the drum to get current Farish tenants more business so we can prove the concept.

I'm not blaming the people who've tried—and, for now, I'm putting aside the role that a group of insider contractors and quasi-government groups like the Jackson Redevelopment Authority seem to be playing by moving the goal posts and playing favorites.

All I'm just saying is that it looks—from here—like the door has closed on the "build-it-and-B.B.-will-come" concept for Farish. Now, we need to look more into a "local-centric" plan for Farish and other satellite neighborhoods of downtown.

Could the Farish business district be our new restaurant incubator? Could we build a "Jackson Market Hall" like the Little Rock's location I've written about before where kiosk-sized businesses get their start, and singles and families gather for evening music and beer-garden festivities?

What about a development of small shops, restaurants, and bars that all have Mississippi roots and flavors? How about some artist spaces and lofts? Live-work offices? Frequent street festivals? Food trucks? Artwalks? Craft fairs?

Maybe my ideas are pie-in-the-sky, but so was, it turns out, Six Flags With Daiquiris.

From where I sit, I think it's time to think "big" again about Farish—by thinking smaller than we did last time.