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I’ve got a 2 guidelines for what makes a good Doctor costume. It must be:

A tad bit weird: Every Doctor’s outfit, barring Two’s perhaps, has been slightly weird or off kilter. Even the Second Doctor’s clothing as supposed to look a little worn down. They shouldn’t look like complete fashion-inappropriate characters, but this is an alien weirdo we’re talking about. The Doctor should make you pause when they walk into a room.

Recognizable: The Doctor should have a silhouette different from all the others. Each Doctor should look different from all the others. One thru Nine do this well. 10, 11, and 12 are all wonderful Doctors, but their clothing seemed very similar at first eye, when compared to the variation in classic Doctors.

Distinct From the Previous Doctor: This relates to my previous point,. Each Doctor should be wildly different from the previous incarnation, in both attitude, and in dress. A new incarnation should think differently, and be interested in different things. Thus, they’ll dress differently.

A random series of bits and bytes ran down the hard line of the TARDIS's engines, being produced into a machine of great strength and fortitude. The Time Smiths that had produced that TARDIS looked feverishly at the sleek production, watching the fits and starts of an early time-space manipulator in birth throes. The roaring of twenty men rang through the air, and the Time Smiths, with the masks made of an ancient Gallifreyan metal, frittered amoungst themselves.

They whispered “Would it grow? Will it have a great timeline? Or will it rot in the Graveyard of Ephemera, as they all do, in one way or another?”

As they watched, at the end of the hall, a being made of Time, in her own way, walked through the doors. Her stance was of a goblin-knight, with eyes of pure anger. She wore a black hoodie, as a throwback to an older body, with a shock of a blonde hair across the top of her head. The Time Smiths stopped their mutterings, and looked at this Time Lord. The blank eyes of their masks hid their true expressions, but the way their bodies began to go rigid as they saw the approaching visitor perhaps betrayed an apprehension.

“Hello, renegade of the fourth age,” said one of the Smiths.