Bethann Hardison in Invisible Beauty (Bruce Weber/Magnolia Pictures)

Fashion’s famed Battle of Versailles pitted French versus U.S. designers in 1973. As one of the 10 American Black models taking the stage in the flamboyant faceoff, Bethann Hardison would have already made fashion history. As a modeling agency founder and tireless advocate of people of color in the fashion industry, she went much farther:  helping redefine beauty ideals to include proud Black bodies and faces.

The new documentary Invisible Beauty is a valentine to the industry lioness in her golden years. Everyone from Naomi Campbell to Zendaya is on hand to say how inspiring she is. A flinty, fiery presence, Hardison might have benefited from a little less straight-up adoration and the film from a slightly rowdier edge. Still, the portrait is a dignified and affectionate one. Fashion docs tend to be fawning anyway, and this one has a subject worthy of fawning over.

Hardison partners with veteran fashion filmmaker Frédéric Tcheng as we see her reminisce, plan a book project, and even sketch out the shape of the film itself. She grew up in Brooklyn, daughter of a good-time mother and an Islamic convert father. Hardison recalls how visits to the Deep South hardened her determination to ignore racist barriers: “I never thought less of myself.” She credits a busing program with putting her on a success track. Working in New York’s bustling garment district got her in touch with designer Willi Smith, and soon she was deep in the fashion world of the Studio 54 heyday, designing and modeling. As a model, the angular Hardison made waves with a confidence all her own: “I drew inspiration from samurai. I always thought of samurai when I walked.”

When the catwalk years wound down, Hardison founded a modeling agency that specialized in striking, unusual faces, mostly of color. Her talent roster stood out in what she and other commentators call a 1980s vanilla landscape. Hardison mentored Naomi Campbell, bucked up a condescended-to Iman, and helped make Tyson Beckford the face of the ultra-White, ultra-preppie Ralph Lauren, all the while serving fashion’s big-time players

Looking at footage of the pre-digital golden era of fashion, one has to admire Hardison for rocking the boat with advocacy (which she claims was never an objective but “just happened”). The Black Girls Coalition that Hardison founded made demands on the fashion industry to diversify the models attached to brands, putting forward spokespeople like Roshumba and Veronica Webb.

But progress didn’t last. “You think you’ve accomplished something in history, and then you turn around and see what you’ve accomplished is completely erased,” muses Hardison. In the 2010s, Hardison criticized the fashion establishment for either not including models of color in high-profile fashion shows or else fixating on one lone model who would get them off the hook. Casting director James Scully imitates fashion executives rattling off “reasons” why casting Black women just never, never works. Needless to say, Hardison refused to accept such excuses.

A confrontation in the movie where a White executive calls Hardison out for attacking the industry adds a note of tension that the movie could use a little more of. Hardison is clearly an outspoken woman who must have upset adversaries along the way, but you’d never know from the oodles of praise she receives from every interviewee. The movie elides over an estrangement from her son, actor Kadeem Hardison (star of the sitcom A Different World, which in its own way paved a way for more Black inclusion), only to bring him back for happy hugs on camera—no reason given. And soft, gentle music, edited without much edge, brings the energy down around such a dynamic figure.

No matter, really. Bethann Hardison has talked plain talk in a business given to endless cooing and walked a samurai walk so others could follow in her footsteps. She’s dedicated a remarkable life to changing the concept of beauty for the better. Her achievements are formidable, and a little fashion air-kissing can’t take that away.