In hard-boiled detective fiction, there are wrong crowds to fall in with, and wrong crowds to fall in with:

Toronto has its own Village. It's very much like the original in New York -- on a smaller scale, of course. Hester got in with a gang of ballet buffs. She went overboard for dancing lessons . . . . She had her hair clipped short, and her ears were pierced for earrings. She took to wearing white silk shirts and matador pants around the flat. She was always doing entrechats or whatever you call 'em.

"The Barbarous Coast" -- Ross MacDonald