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I love fashion. Every month I devour the new Vogue. However, my passion hasn't always served me well. Last week, as I hung up the spiffy duds I'd packed for the Semiconductor Industry Suppliers Assn.'s annual meeting in Dallas, I felt pretty confident. What a contrast to a few years back.

I've gone through some pretty drastic makeovers since I left business journalism in 1983 to succeed my ailing father as head of MEECO, an analytical-equipment company. It was already a rough transition into a world where "female executive" was an oxymoron. My style didn't help, though.

It was, in a word, provocative. Although I imagined myself glamorous, in retrospect, I looked like I was auditioning for a bit part in Pretty Woman. When I showed up in Houston in black stockings with long purple nails, my new regional salesman quit the next day. (There were other issues, still...)

SHUNNED. Only a few years back, I wore a white suit with a tight, side-slit skirt to my first SISA meeting. My husband seemed a bit dubious but said nothing. At the meeting, I chalked up the chilly reception to sexism, which was reinforced when the emcee invited us to "bring your wives to dinner." Still, the two other women presidents I met -- who wore staid navy suits -- also avoided me.

Around the plant, I wore a schizophrenic mix of demure, ill-fitting outfits from my journalism days and clingy, short numbers "concealed" under a businesslike jacket. What was I thinking? Now I wince when I look at old pictures of myself with my thick, curly hair worn long and wild, and all that makeup. I'd show up to work our booth at technical trade shows with my eyes rimmed with black liner. It was a show, I reasoned.

Deep down, I knew better. In my days as a business journalist in the late '70s, I stuck to calf-length dirndl skirts with silk blouses and jackets. Once I hit MEECO, something happened to my sense of style. No doubt I was rebelling. I never planned on spending my prime productive -- not to mention reproductive -- years running my father's business in Warrington, Penn. Sidelined as a writer, you could say my creative outlet switched from bylines to hemlines.

I was struggling to define myself in a field where, at the time, there were few female role models. I liked the Hollywood image of the snappy, sexy, young female executive that was just emerging. They wore short skirts. Their world, with its hip staff and sleek offices, was a sharp contrast to my beloved, but bleak, old factory. If I couldn't work in their world, I could at least dress the part.

Most of my employees seemed impervious to my sartorial acting-out -- except our then-janitor, known for his lascivious stare. One time, he confided, "I really like the way you dress. And I notice everything. I see it all." I had to admit, I was getting the wrong kind of attention.

A NEW SHADE. By late 1997, with the prospect of my first trip to Asia ahead, I threw myself into the capable hands of the young women at Calvin Klein's store on Madison Avenue in New York. "I need help. It's very conservative over there. They're not used to women executives." Off to be fitted went a well-made navy blazer, a slim (not tight) gray skirt, a basic, but beautifully cut blue blouse, and an ensemble in an unfamiliar color: "sage."

"You look like you're ready to head up diplomacy for the U.N.," my husband beamed when I modeled the shipment from New York. It arrived just in time for Semicon Japan, a major trade show for semiconductor manufacturers and their vendors.

To my surprise, Japanese executives were quite accepting. I also met American executives who suddenly wanted to work with me or do business with MEECO. Some have remained close associates. The fashion fairy godmother had waved her magic wand.

MINISKIRTS & METAL. I now keep my hair fairly tame and my short nails manicured. I use makeup sparingly. Sure, it's more expensive and time-consuming to maintain this seemingly unstudied, upscale patina than my unkempt, early incarnation. The truth is well-cut threads are a lot more comfortable than my old getups. (Think sitting on a metal folding chair in a miniskirt.)

They also last longer. This week, for example, I wore that same sage dress suit to the SISA meeting. There, one of the women presidents who was at the first meeting approached me and started a conversation. She heads a $400 million business. For those of us who aren't rap stars, there's something to be said for staid.

Of course, I don't give a changed appearance credit for my entrepreneurial achievements. Underneath the new image is a deeper change. For many years, I felt like an imposter in my role as president and CEO of a high-tech manufacturing company. More recently, I've begun to fit into the job. And less than a month shy of 50, I've finally grown comfortable in my own skin.

By now, I've given away most of my short, slinky numbers. I admit -- I kept the Victoria's Secret red silk power suit, along with some embroidered peasant dresses from the '60s and a pair of multicolored snakeskin platform shoes. (You never know what will come back in.) Anyway, they're good for costume parties.