Wanting and liking are driven by two separate brain systems

In the 1950s, scientists assumed pleasure and desire were one and the same. But in 1986 James Olds and Peter Milner’s accidental discovery of the rat’s “pleasure center” in the brain set the stage for a greater surprise. Years later, Kent Berridge, studying tongue-licking rats, injected them with a dopamine blocker that ruined their “wanting” signals—but their “liking” circuits still registered sugary treats as tasty. Then he triggered their dopamine pathways and saw the rats chase bitter quinine water they clearly disgused. Berridge realized that wanting—your craving—and liking—your enjoyment—live in distinct brain systems.

Neuroscientists mapped these systems: the accumbens drives wanting via dopamine, while tiny “hedonic hotspots” spread through the orbitofrontal cortex and deep limbic regions power liking via opioids and endocannabinoids. This split explains why addictions can take hold—people desperately pursue a high (excessive wanting) even as the actual pleasure fades (diminished liking). It also explains why vivid stores or products exploit the wanting system with supernormal stimuli like ultra-sweet sodas and eye-catching ads. You may taste it, but you can’t always trust your urge to get more.

Understanding this decoupling transforms self-control. It means you can step back and ask: am I chasing a genuine source of enjoyment, or am I merely pressing a brain circuit hijacked by craving? Armed with this insight, researchers show you can retrain your reward system with healthier, consistent pleasures—like a favorite fruit or a brisk walk—giving your wanting system new signals that closely match real enjoyment.

In effect, once you grasp that desire and pleasure follow different neural paths, you gain the power to choose more wisely. You become a moderator of your impulses, so your actions align with what truly makes you happy, not just what triggers your dopamine thirst.

You’re twisting a soda cap, feeling that familiar pull of wanting, but sheathing that urge for a moment. You pause and breathe, recalling that the fizz won’t taste as good as you remember once it hits your lips. You reach instead for a crisp apple—the communal gesture of true liking—slice it slowly, and taste the genuine sweetness as it melts on your tongue. That pause between wanting and doing shifts the neural gears away from craving and back toward real enjoyment. Give it a try the next time an impulse strikes.