From SPF sprays to silk linings to a pre-wash oil layer, these are the small habits that kept my ends from snapping all year.

Summer: scalp sunscreen and a hat you will wear

I learned the hard way that “protecting my hair” in summer can’t just mean buying a cute beach spray and calling it a day. The first thing that fries is the scalp, especially the part line. If you’ve ever had a slightly crispy, tight-feeling part after a long afternoon outside, you know the sensation. I keep it simple: I treat my scalp like skin. On pool days or long hikes, I use a scalp-friendly sunscreen approach: either a dedicated scalp SPF spray or a lightweight mineral sunscreen dabbed along the part with a clean fingertip. (I’m picky here. I avoid slathering heavy body sunscreen into my roots because it makes a paste with sweat, and then I’m tempted to scrub too hard at night.)

The second piece is the hat. Not the hat you buy, the hat you’ll wear when it’s 92 degrees and you’re already annoyed. My MVP has been a breathable, packable UPF bucket hat, because a stiff, wide-brim straw number looks great until the first gust turns it into a sailing experiment. And yes, the hat matters for your color and your ends. UV plus saltwater plus a rough towel is a perfect recipe for that crunchy, split-end feel.

I also adjust how I handle wet hair in summer: microfiber towel or old cotton tee only, then a leave-in with UV filters, then I don’t touch it until it’s mostly dry. The tiny win is fewer snapped strands on my bathroom floor. The big win is not needing a “summer chop” every September.

Winter: line your cold-weather gear before it lines you with frizz

My winter hair problems are boring and consistent: static, roughness at the ends, and a halo of breakage right where my hat rubs. The fix that made the biggest difference for me wasn’t a new serum. It was upgrading what touches my hair all day.

If you wear knit hats, hoodies, or wool coats, you’ve probably noticed the same pattern: the strands at your nape and around your temples takes the most friction. That’s the hair that ends up looking shorter by March, even if you never cut it. I now treat winter accessories like they’re part of my routine. I either buy satin-lined beanies or I make the ones I already own wearable by adding a satin or silk liner (a simple insert cap works too). The point is reducing that constant rubbing that turns curls into lint and straight locks into a static cloud.

A small detail that sounds fussy but isn’t: I keep one “hair” hat in my bag. It’s the one I reach for when I’m running errands, commuting, or walking the dog, because it’s the one that doesn’t rough up my hairline. My other hats are for outfits, and I accept what they do.

On wash days, winter air makes me overdo shampoo because my scalp feels tight and flaky. That’s when I slow down and use a gentle cleanser (something in the no-sulfate lane if your ends tolerate it) and I focus conditioner on the last 4 to 6 inches. If I’m using a blow dryer, I don’t chase bone-dry. I stop at “dry enough” and finish with a tiny amount of silicone-based serum on the ends so they slide against scarves instead of grabbing. I don’t need my hair to be perfect in winter. I just need it to survive my outerwear.

Spring and fall: the pre-wash layer that saved my ends

Spring and fall are when my strands gets weird. It’s not just “dry” or “humid.” It’s windy, then raining, then the heater kicks on, then I decide I want a smooth blowout again because I’m tired of hats. My ends used to take the hit, especially if I was coloring my hair or using hot tools a couple times a week.

What helped most was adding a pre-wash layer on the lengths before shampoo. I’m not talking about drenching your scalp in oil and hoping for a miracle. I keep it targeted: 20 to 30 minutes before I shower, I smooth a few drops of a lightweight oil (argan oil, jojoba oil, or even a silicone-based pre-shampoo if you prefer that slip) through the last third of my locks. If my ends feel particularly rough, I’ll use a little more and twist the hair into a loose bun while I do something else.

Then I shampoo like normal, focusing on the scalp and letting the suds rinse down the rest. That thin layer gives me a buffer so the ends don’t feel stripped afterward, which means I’m not tempted to attack tangles with a brush while my ends are half-wet and fragile. In shoulder seasons, that brushing temptation is constant because wind knots are real.

Two practical notes from doing this wrong first: don’t use a heavy kitchen oil that sits on top and makes you shampoo twice, and don’t skip emulsifying your conditioner with water in your hands before you apply it. That little bit of water helps it spread evenly, so you’re not piling product on one section and leaving another section dry.

This is also the time of year I trim on purpose, not in panic. A clean quarter-inch dusting every 8 to 12 weeks (at a salon or carefully at home with sharp hair shears) beats waiting until my ends look shredded in harsh bathroom lighting.