A Cure for Impulse Buying
Buying something you desire can make your brain glow, literally. Certain regions fire with excitement, anticipation, and reward, turning the object in front of you into something almost luminous. But if you wait—if there is a delay between wanting and receiving—the glow fades.
And so can the desire.
I learned this recently in a way that surprised me.
I was looking at two decorative objects online, elegant, high-end pieces from reputable, brick-and-mortar galleries. The photographs were so enticing that I could almost feel their surface. I pictured them in my home, imagined the elegance they’d give a room, and for a brief moment, it felt practically inevitable: these pieces belonged to me.
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Yet, because I couldn’t hold them or examine their condition firsthand, I did what any responsible collector does: I asked the sellers questions. And that’s when the story turned.
Days passed as I waited to learn more. Then, more days. My inquiries floated unanswered in the void of the internet. The merchants, for reasons of their own, seemed in no hurry at all.
Perhaps they assumed my desire would simmer indefinitely until they were ready to reply. But that is not what happened.
Instead, something internal shifted. The same objects that had once felt essential and emotionally necessary lost their glow. My excitement, once sharp and immediate, grew muted.
By the time the sellers finally responded, my enthusiasm had evaporated entirely. I didn’t want them anymore. This struck me as curious. These were pieces I hadn’t merely liked; I had longed for them. I felt sure they would enhance my well-being. Yet the delay—that long stretch of unanswered questions—had done something to my brain.
What, exactly?
I believe what happened is a textbook example of a neuroeconomic principle called temporal discounting. It describes how we make decisions when rewards are uncertain or delayed, and why immediacy has such power over the human mind.
When what we desire is available right away, the brain’s reward circuitry lights up. Functional magnetic resonance imaging studies show this clearly. Unexpected rewards activate brain regions associated with pleasure and motivation. Meanwhile, evaluating risk or uncertainty activates brain regions associated with discomfort, worry, and aversion. In other words, immediate rewards feel good. Delayed rewards feel risky.
So when we want something—especially something nonessential but emotionally charged—our brains push us toward the path of least resistance: buy it now, enjoy the dopamine, avoid the discomfort of waiting.
But if the immediate path is blocked, as it was for me, something else happens. The brain begins to discount the object’s value. The longer the delay, the greater the discount. This is called temporal discounting.
Psychologists and neuroscientists have studied this for decades. It explains why people prefer a smaller reward today over a larger reward in a month. This is why savers must be given interest; without a payoff, the brain struggles to tolerate delay. It is why “Buy Now” is such a
powerful marketing tool. And it is why my cherished objects lost their spellbinding effect over a few weeks. My brain, deprived of immediacy, re-evaluated the reward: Maybe this isn’t worth the effort. Maybe this doesn’t matter as much as I thought.
And once that shift began, I almost felt the desire deflating like a balloon with a quiet leak.
In my case, the delay served as a forced pause. Initially, I was frustrated by it. I wanted answers. I wanted momentum. I wanted to complete the purchase and enjoy the relief of no longer having to debate with myself.
But as the days stretched on, my brain found new ways to make sense of the slowdown. I began thinking about shipping, a process that can be complicated—particularly with fragile, high-value objects. I considered the possibility of damage and the hassle of returns. There would also be insurance costs and other inconveniences. I thought about the exact spot where I imagined placing the pieces and realized it didn’t look quite as inviting as it had previously.
Of course, these were rationalizations—classic cognitive dissonance, the mental discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs. In this case, when desire decreases and we can’t entirely explain why, we construct reasons that match our new emotional state. It’s a way of preserving internal harmony.
“I didn’t really want that anyway,” I said to myself, only half aware that the wanting had once been very real.
This mix of temporal discounting and cognitive dissonance transformed my experience. What I had once felt I “had to have” became something I no longer had to buy. The relief felt good.
The Practical Lesson Within Neuroscience
What happened to me is a small example of a larger truth:
If you delay a nonessential purchase long enough, your brain may decide for you.
This is not about deprivation or moral restraint. It’s about understanding how desire fades when it’s not continually fed.
In modern life, we are surrounded by opportunities to buy immediately. Every object is “available now.” Every image is a click away from becoming ours. Every desire can be gratified almost instantly. This environment exploits our neural wiring, particularly our preference for immediate reward.
But delay interrupts that wiring. It gives the brain space to recalibrate. It allows the initial rush of dopamine to settle. It reveals whether the desire is genuine or merely reflexive.
And often, the desire evaporates entirely.
The Happiness of Not Buying
My experience reminded me of something I’ve known intellectually for years but had never felt so viscerally. Waiting can make me happier than buying immediately, at least under certain circumstances.
It can save money, certainly, but that’s secondary. Real happiness comes from escaping the cycle of craving and consuming—impulse buying. It develops through the realization that what felt essential was not. Then satisfaction can arise not only from acquiring an object but sometimes from letting it go.
Shirley M. Mueller, M.D., is known for her expertise in Chinese export porcelain and neuroscience. Her unique knowledge in these two areas motivated her to explore the neuropsychological aspects of collecting, both to help herself and others as well. This guided her to write her landmark book, Inside the Head of a Collector: Neuropsychological Forces at Play. In it, she uses the new field of neuropsychology to explain the often-enigmatic behavior of collectors. Shirley is also a well-known speaker. She has shared her insights in London, Paris, Shanghai, and other major cities worldwide as well as across the United States. In these lectures, she blends art and science to unravel the mysteries of the collector’s mind.
