Anointed by the press at age 17 as a shy, wistful, waif-like beauty, at age 32 she was emphatically none of these things.
A self-confessed hedonist and narcissist, she had played into the hands of those who could cut her down, exploit her many weaknesses or revel in her public mistakes.
That Faithfull delivered in 1979 her finest work as a singer and songwriter is both a measure of her resilience and an example of the random luck that befell her as an artist walking the razor's edge.
Having started the decade with a junkie's two-year stretch on the streets of Soho, she had only marginally improved her circumstances and was living in a basement flat with then boyfriend Ben Brierly, of punk band The Vibrators, when Broken English was released.
Timing is everything, they say. There's no doubting that the album came to life at the intersection of punk's downward trajectory, New Wave's star burst and the dance scene's ascent.
It tapped veins of self-awareness and feminist expression, hitting a market that had already been softened by punk's full-frontal attack.
But there is more to the success of Broken English than the circumstances of its birth.
In its eight songs lie the collected experiences of a long, painful gestation. Even the well-chosen covers The Ballad of Lucy Jordan and Working Class Hero speak volumes about Faithfull's story - the former tracing a path her life could have taken, the latter betraying the seeds of her rebellion.
Witches' Song both thumbs its nose at those who are quick to label and acknowledges the spirited women in Faithfull's life, while Brain Drain, Guilt, What's The Hurry? and Why'd You Do It? spell out the realities of addictions to drugs, sex and misadventure.
And throughout, Faithfull wears her scarred vocal cords as a badge, not of honour but of truth.
