Your Month = Your Roman Emperor
Because out of 70 emperors to choose from, only 12 are worthy.
(we all know December is the worst)
Not every Roman emperor deserves a statue. Most of them don’t even deserve a toga. Some were glorified landlords with a god complex; others were literal walking disasters with bloodlust and mommy issues. But here’s the thing – the Roman calendar may have started as a lunar mess, but we’re going full imperial here. You get one month. You get one emperor. That’s it. This isn’t a democracy, but a glorious autocracy.
So which emperor are you based on your birth month? Let’s ruin your astrological self-worth with historical chaos.
January – Nerva
You’re the rebound emperor. The managerial hire after the office fire. You show up post-assassination with calm uncle energy, fix the budget, adopt a qualified heir, and leave before anything explodes. Your vibe is “mildly disappointed, but fair.” You’re what happens when HR takes control for five minutes and somehow everything doesn’t collapse. Nobody remembers your birthday, but Rome would’ve imploded without you.
February – Tiberius
Congratulations, you’re that cold, introverted cousin no one invites to parties because you’d rather rot on a cliff in Capri and whisper passive-aggressive epigrams. You’re smart, maybe too smart – but with the vibe of a haunted crypt. Nobody understands you, and honestly, you prefer it that way. The phrase “unbothered king” might’ve been coined for you, if you weren’t busy executing senators from afar like it’s Inazuma Eleven.
March – Caligula
Let’s be honest: you’re chaos incarnate. You once made a horse a consul just to prove a point, and we respect the audacity. Some say mad, others say legend. You call it vibes. You’re either starting a rave or declaring war on Neptune, and no one can stop you. You burn bright and fast, aand….. probably get assassinated by March 15th. Iconic.
April – Claudius
You weren’t even supposed to be emperor, and yet here you are. Everyone underestimated you – you stuttered your way to the throne, then casually conquered Britain while your enemies were busy choking on their own egos. You’re the surprise quiz that ends up reshaping the semester. Underrated genius energy. You read books, you write history, and you still manage to seduce your hot but deeply untrustworthy niece (we won’t talk about it).
May – Nero
You’re the drama. You are the entire theater. People either worship you or want you on fire, and you would play the lyre while it happens. You think you’re an artist, a poet, a visionary; history thinks you’re a homicidal pyromaniac with mom issues. Tomato, toga. Either way, you’re engraved in history, and probably the reason HR exists now.
June – Vespasian
You’re the “clean-up crew” friend who shows up after every group project collapses in flames and somehow makes it work. You built the Colosseum like a big old middle finger to everyone who doubted you. You’re dry, sarcastic, and entirely too competent. Probably smell like paperwork and leather sandals. Solid. Dependable. You’d tax urine and call it innovation. King with a capital K.
July – Trajan
You’re peak Rome. Literally. Your empire is thicc and thriving. You build roads, aqueducts, and flex just enough not to be annoying. People trust you. You’re the guy who shows up to a party, fixes the plumbing, and leaves with everyone’s respect. You get a column. You get a month. You get a W in every province.
August – Augustus
You’re the blueprint. The golden child. The teacher’s pet who actually earned it. You walk into a room and people feel like history just started. You stabilize everything after a bloody civil war, and people act like you invented peace. Which you kind of…. did? Boring? Maybe. Effective? Extremely. The only downside? You peaked early. Literally named the month after yourself. What an absolute chad.
September – Marcus Aurelius
Stoic. Sad. You write poetry on campaign while being dragged into war, they ask you how you are, and you just have to say that you’re fine when you’re not really fine, but you just can’t get into it because they would never understand. But you’ll rule justly anyway. You’re the philosopher-king, the reluctant emperor, the friend who always has deep quotes and existential dread. We respect you. We worry about you. Also, your son Commodus will absolutely ruin everything, but that’s just how September works.
October – Diocletian
You reorganize the chaos. You split the empire like you’re slicing pizza at 2AM with dictator precision. You’re the one who looks at a broken system and says, “you know what this needs? Four emperors and a bureaucracy.” You’re practical, ruthless, and the reason people still talk about inflation in history class. The problem is, once you quit, nobody can figure it out again. Classic overachiever burnout.
November – Constantine the Great
You’re the plot twist. You legalize Christianity and then casually rename a city after yourself. You’re legacy-focused, probably addicted to brand identity, and have enough power to make “eternity” feel like a reasonable career goal. People can’t decide if you saved Rome or doomed it, but you’re too busy stacking gold coins to care. You have main character energy, and your LinkedIn would terrify a bishop.
December – Romulus Augustulus
Oof. You’re not even technically an emperor. You’re the Deloitte intern holding the imperial title while everything falls apart. People say “fall of Rome” and mean you. Not entirely your fault, since the Goths were Gothing so hard they didn’t sack Rome, they emotionally devastated it, but still… Your vibes are cold, bleak, and tragically irrelevant. You’re that kid in group work who shows up right as the teacher cancels the project. Sorry. It had to be said.
Conclusion?
History is cruel, the calendar is weirder than you think, and December babies deserve better. But hey, at least none of you are Elagabalus.
(Unless you called a state of emergency just to take a nap.)