This year has now produced two notable documentaries about British fashion designers.
But where the recently released McQueen was a straight stare at a life that burnt bright, Westwood dials things back and is a more measured examination of a designer still working.
From the outset, the film makes it clear that Vivienne does not want to tell us her life story. In the film's only vagary, it's difficult to discern if she is apologetically embarrassed about boring us with her stories, or unapologetically annoyed about boring herself with them.
What is abundantly clear though, is that Westwood is a straight shooter offering some Gordon Ramsey-styled moments of non-minced vocabulary.
The documentary dispenses with her upbringing, beginning instead in the 70s when Westwood was busy confronting society with the self-proclaimed invention of punk. It was when punk became fashionable, rather than a middle finger to the establishment it was supposed to be, that Westwood branched off and honed her skill as a clothes designer.