The first celeb we saw at Cynthia Rowley’s show Friday night — though by no means the last — was America’s Next Top Model‘s resident dreamboat Nigel Barker, and the gravitational pull of his hotness pulled us down to the front row to ask him about the most important development that’s occurred since we saw him in February: his once-again shaved head. And thank God. Nigel Barker with hair was like Tom Selleck without a mustache. Nigel explained that the shaved head is just cooler for summer, and that he’d only grown out his hair in the first place because he wanted to prove to his little girls that he was capable of growing hair at all. “I was astounded by the press I received,” he said. “Miss J was rather pissed off that I was stealing his moment.” Speaking of Top Model, we also couldn’t resist wondering whether or not Nigel has read Miss Tyra’s forthcoming young-adult magnum opus, Modelland, coming out Tuesday. “I haven’t read the entire thing,” Nigel hedged, “but we’ve been working on it since the last season of Top Model, so I am very familiar with all aspects of it.” We speculated that this meant they were prepping some Modelland-themed shoots for this upcoming All Stars season. Nigel just smiled. “What are my eyes saying?” he asked. “My mouth is saying nothing, and my eyes are saying something else. I’m smizing an answer to you. Read into it.” Trust me, kind sir, we will read the hell out of it. Possibly several times.

Cynthia Rowley - Front Row - Spring 2012 Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week

We were still toasting in the glow of Nigel’s hotness when, right before the lights went down, a platinum-and-orange waif in tiny trousers, massive shades, and hypnotically puffy lips burst forth from backstage, hustling to a front-row seat with ruthless efficiency (and several security guards). For one glorious, confusing moment, we — and, we later learned, everyone in the rows around us — thought this walking creamsicle had to be Donatella Versace. Then, the entire room full of journalists sat ramrod straight and let out excited, disbelieving, four-letter expletives as we all realized this was actually Lindsay Freaking Lohan. We then simultaneously commenced trying to figure out if she was wearing pants. (They were shorts. Small ones. Very, very small ones.) The take-home here for Lindsay should be that we all initially mistook her for somebody much crispier who is thirty years her senior, but we suspect instead she will mentally gloss over that part and focus only on how fast the crowd of blasé, already-burned-out fashionistas whipped out their smartphones and overloaded AT&T service. One photographer even went so far as to walk down onto the runway — which we’d been expressly forbidden to do, given that it was mirrored — and get in her face to take a photo, prompting event organizers to confiscate both his camera (which looked more expensive than her extensions) and his credentials, which they ripped from his neck with soap-operatic verve. The room applauded, led by Lindsay herself, as she settled into her seat between a shell-shocked-seeming Leigh Lezark — we feel you, Leigh — and Lindsay’s companion, who is either a Johnny Depp superfan or an actual pirate. Seriously, he had the long hair and the scruff and the vest flapping over a mostly-open shirt… all he was missing was a parrot and an eye-patch, although we’d bet Lindsay has a couple of those floating around her hotel room somewhere.