The House that built itself: Jahnell Butler on ballroom, motherhood, and legacy
Jahnell Butler on the joys of chosen motherhood and being part of a ballroom legacy. (Courtesy of Jahnell Butler)
Before she was director of trans services at San Francisco Community Health, connecting our community to housing, healthcare, and professional opportunity, Jahnell Butler was a girl from Upstate New York who didn’t know she needed ballroom yet.
Now she’s Mother Chanel: part of the oldest, iconic, and most storied houses in ballroom history. But if you ask Jahnell what motherhood actually means, she won’t start with the floor. She’ll tell you about the doctor’s appointments and graduations. The late-night check-ins and becoming the main point of contact for a daughter’s post-op care.
A mother and an organizer, she’s a reminder that trans visibility isn’t just about being seen. It’s about making sure those coming up behind you know who paved the way.
Marie-Adélina de la Ferrière: As mother of the House of Chanel, how do you describe ballroom to people who only know it through television or social media?
Jahnell Butler: Ballroom is something I never knew I needed. So many folks get the depiction of ballroom as just the competitive component...voguing, face competitions, realness, body, all of the categories. But there’s so much work that goes into those performances.
Ballroom is family. It’s a network of folks who come together for many reasons, and it’s primarily built around creating family for people who were pushed away from their own. I think it has evolved into more of a network now. Some people still embody that original culture of family, and I think it’s really important. But ballroom is a network of people exploring their creativity who need family, accountability partners, coaches, and people who believe in them and their artistry.
For many Black trans women, ballroom isn’t just performance—it is chosen family. What does motherhood mean inside ballroom in ways the outside world may not understand?
My mothering style is so much more than the ballroom floor. I’m blessed to be in a space where I provide services to folks in our community daily, so I’m able to instill in my children the importance of healthcare, housing opportunities, and professional development—whether that’s through sewing and fashion, styling, or connecting with folks in the industry.
As a mother, I feel really blessed to be able to provide my daughters and my children with opportunities to continue our legacy through this work and pour back into community. I take my mothering extremely seriously. We’re constantly getting together, constantly checking in. I want it to be so much more than what we bring to the ball—genuinely having a connection, a foundation, a love for one another, and really showing up for your siblings and your family members.
Can you tell us more about the House of Chanel and its history?
Our house has been around for 50 years, established in 1976 by RR Chanel, who is still living and is one of the only living founders of the original houses in ballroom. Our house created Grand March, which is one of the major highlights in ballroom right now. And I’m proud to say that’s ours.
Our house was built on resilience. When RR talks about wanting to be part of a house, being turned away, and starting his own, I think about every door that’s been closed in my face and in my children’s faces. To know that our house was built on that resilience, that we were told no and we’re still here, that we’ve never pivoted, never changed our name, never had to join another house—that means everything. We’re also the first house in ballroom to have a designer house name. Chanel was the first house named after a designer, and now almost every house follows that tradition. We laid that brick.
Last year, we celebrated our 50th anniversary in Atlanta and gave $50,000 to the house with the most points—making history again. I am forever committed to thinking of ways to keep us first and to be accountable for the legacy we’re leaving.
Can you share a house mother moment that’s stayed with you?
There are tons of moments, but some of the happiest have been with my daughter, who recently had gender-affirming care. Being their main point of contact, speaking with doctors and nurses about aftercare, and providing a safe space for them to recover. Connecting folks to employment opportunities. Going to my children’s graduations and witnessing them grow into who they want to become. One of my sons just got his PhD out in Arizona, and I am a super proud mom watching him go through all his ebbs and flows.
I’m blessed to witness that, and it empowers me to keep going because there’s so much of what I see in my children that I recognize in myself. The moment you stop learning from them is the moment you do yourself a disservice. As a mom, I’m constantly learning. And as much as I’m helping push them into their destiny, they are pushing me into mine.
There’s a growing appetite for ballroom aesthetics in the mainstream. Has visibility strengthened ballroom, diluted it, or a little of both?
Both. Definitely both.
The ballroom’s growing mainstream popularity has done our community a service. We’re finally getting the notoriety and recognition for the creativity and influence we’ve always provided: fashion, dance, makeup, beauty trends, and styling. For so long, ballroom was the influence without the credit. So it’s really meaningful that our legacy is finally being honored in a mainstream way. And from a funding angle, the allure of mainstream ballroom is creating real job opportunities for folks in our community. I’m grateful for that.
But ballroom was created around underserved communities. It was built to be a safe place, and for many trans women, that safety included a degree of anonymity. Black trans women still have a target on our backs. With ballroom going mainstream, we’re a lot more visible. When you walk a ball now, there’s no telling where that video lands or how many views it gets. For someone who needs the balance of community and discretion—navigating the world as a woman, possibly stealth—that heightens everything. It’s still a safe space. But more mainstream means more open, and more open means more people have access who may not necessarily need it.
Much of the discourse around TDOV centers on recognition and survival statistics. How important is it to also foreground trans visibility around joy, beauty, and competition as equally political?
Now more than ever, it is so important. With everything we’re facing from the current administration and with our funding sources under attack—now more than ever —we have to take those moments to find joy.
We’re planning a huge TDOV event here in SF, and I’m just overwhelmed by how much goes into making sure these are days we can actually celebrate, show up, and love on each other as sisters. Trans Day of Visibility gives us an opportunity to show the world that we are here to stay. Our beauty, our talents deserve to be celebrated—and if no one else is going to celebrate them, we will celebrate each other.
And I want to connect TDOV to Trans Day of Remembrance because so many of our sisters, mothers, aunties, and grandmothers are no longer here. I want to celebrate them through legacy and visibility. Through telling stories, through making sure our kids and our community members know: these were the girls who originated that. These were the girls who showed me how. It’s important to honor them not just in November but through how we show up every single day.
Tanya Harvey. Natrice Daniels. Angel Matthews. Quaca. All of my fallen sisters will never be forgotten. Their visibility remains alive through me every day I show up.
For young Black trans girls watching ballroom from the outside, what do you want them to understand about what ballroom can and cannot give them?
Ballroom can give you family. It can give you network, accountability, resources, empowerment, and confidence. What ballroom cannot give you is validation. Self-love is the work you have to do yourself.
I implore every young lady to be intentional about loving on yourself. Be intentional about making decisions that are safe, about protecting yourself in ways that allow you to move forward. I know a lot of our situations require living in the moment—we are women who thrive in survival. But I want you to change your thought process and see yourself as a success, not just someone trying to survive.
Ballroom is everything I didn’t know I needed. I come from a time when being part of certain communities put a target on your back. I want to change that thought process. I want people to understand that this is what sisterhood, family, and connection look like. For me, it happened to happen through ballroom—and I am so grateful. So I challenge every lady out there: love on yourself.
Know that validation won’t come from this, but family, love, empowerment, belief in yourself, network, fashion, beauty, and simply love? That can come from ballroom.
