Jeselle, pronounced je-ZEL, drifts onto the tongue like a silken ribbon blown across a sun-warmed Tuscan piazza—its letters borrowing the grace of the French classic Giselle (from the Old German “gisil,” a pledge or noble promise) yet brightened by that playful J which hints at jasmine and joyful journeys; thus it feels both familiar and freshly spun. In stories whispered between espresso sips, she is imagined as a spirited ballerina twirling beneath Verona’s moonlight, her name’s soft chime echoing the famous ballet while still standing apart, lighter, quicker, a firefly beside a swan. Because Jeselle has never crowded the nursery roll—her U.S. appearances hover sweetly in the high 800s and 900s—parents who choose her often speak of uncovering a rare pearl inside a sea of sound-alike names. She carries the promise of devotion, the elegance of tulle, and just a dash of mischievous sparkle, inviting anyone who hears it to smile, breathe in the perfume of possibility, and perhaps hum a few bars of Vivaldi while they imagine the future she might dance into being.