Yasmine, daughter of the Persian word “yâsamin,” drifts across languages like evening incense, carrying the pale-gold perfume of the jasmine vine; in Arabic and English alike she sounds as yahz-MEEN, a quiet two-note chime that lingers in the ear the way a shakuhachi flute note hangs over a Kyoto pond. She is the midnight garden itself—cool, reserved, yet undeniably lush—suggesting moonlit trellises where white star-shaped petals appear to float on air, a scene painters of ukiyo-e might have tucked behind a folding screen for subtle drama. Though her rank in American nurseries hovers in the understated middle distance—never clamoring for center stage, but refusing to disappear—Yasmine nevertheless offers parents a name both familiar and faintly exotic, as if presenting a tea bowl whose rim is laced with the faintest crackle glaze: refined, fragrant, and, dare one admit, practically impossible to spill on the carpet of everyday use.
| Yasmine Bleeth - | 
| Yasmine Arrington - | 
| Yasmine Hamdan - | 
| Yasmine El-Mehairy - | 
| Yasmine Al Massri - | 
| Yasmine Belmadi - | 
| Yasmine El Rashidi - | 
| Yasmine Hanani - |